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LIBRARY 

OF  THE 


University  of  California. 


GIFT    OF 


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2l$r<* 


The  Viper  of  Milan 


"Lovely  in  the  midst  of  crime, 

And  yet  unlovely  through  excess  of  guilt, 
He  dazzled  through  that  dim-lit  time, 
And  noble  blood  for  a  vain  shadow  spilt." 


The 

Viper  of  Milan 

A  Romance  of  Lombardy 

BY    MARJORIE    BOWEN 


NEW   YORK 

McCLURE,    PHILLIPS   fcf  CO. 

MCMVI 


33RAJR5? 

Of  TWE 

UNIVERSITY 

OF 
£4UF0RH 


Copyright,  jgo6,  by 
McCLURE,   PHILLIPS   &  CO. 


\ 


5  frfv- 


To  My  Mother 


%\ 


PUBLISHERS*    PREFACE 


SO  long  as  man  retains  his  reminiscent  interest  in  the 
past  of  which  he  is  the  product,  so  long  will  he  continue 
to  take  possession  of  that  past  for  the  purposes  of 
imaginative  expression.  And  so  long  shall  we  have  the 
historical  as  that  form  of  fiction  which  of  all  is  perhaps 
the  most  potent  and  the  most  perennial  in  its  fascination. 
It  is  significant  that  at  this  precise  moment  when  the 
historical  novel  shows  so  much  apparent  exhaustion,  that 
there  should  appear  such  an  example  as  The  Viper  of 
Milan,  which,  while  actually  the  latest  of  its  class,  might 
almost  be  the  first,  so  free  is  it  from  any  trace  of  fatigue 
or  affectation.  Here  is  a  novel  in  which  the  author  writes 
of  the  past  with  as  much  sans~g$ne  as  though  she  were 
writing  of  the  present.  She  moves  there  so  perfectly  at 
home  in  the  mind  of  her  period  that  she  does  not  need 
to  note  all  those  minor  details  which  are  its  outer  mani- 
festation. She  makes  no  attempt  at  an  elaborate  recon- 
struction of  an  epoch,  but  surrenders  herself  rather  to 
that  plastic  spirit  of  an  age  which  molds  the  souls  of 
its  men  and  women  and  makes  them  the  channel  of 
characteristic  expression  in  thought,  feeling  and  action. 
Actually,  we  know  of  no  novel  that  gives  a  more  con- 
crete, vivid  and  brilliant  impression  of  the  Italy  of  the 
early  Renaissance;  but  as  a  matter  of  fact  there  is  a 
total  absence  of  that  set  description  which  forms  the 
staple  of  the  ordinary  historical  novel.  The  method  of 
the  author  is  strictly  dramatic  and  narrative,  her  story 
is  given  as  exclusively  as  possible  through  dialogue  and 


202 


V 


viii  THE   VIPER   OF   MILAN 

action.  What  description  there  is  is  wholly  incidental, 
and  there  is  never  any  slacking  of  the  emotional  tension, 
any  interruption  of  the  swift  course  of  events  for  the 
sake  of  mere  word-painting  which,  however  gorgeous, 
is  bound  to  be  obtrusive. 

In  all  this,  of  course,  Miss  Bowen  receives  some  as- 
sistance, some  inspiration,  as  it  were,  from  that  particu- 
lar phase  of  the  past  with  which  she  deals.  It  would  be 
difficult  for  anyone  to  write  of  Italy  as  it  emerges  from 
the  Middle  Ages  without  catching  something  in  the  nar- 
rative itself  of  that  swift  play  of  passion  and  impulse, 
of  that  tense,  highly-wrought  tendency  to  dramatic 
climax,  which  starts  into  life  from  the  pages  of  the 
barest  records  of  the  period.  And  what  a  period  it  was ! 
At  the  moment  which  Miss  Bowen  has  chosen,  Visconti, 
that  sinister  embodiment  of  the  Lombard  blend  of  Gothic 
vigor  and  Latin  cruelty,  holds  the  stage  in  Northern 
Italy.  He  has  just  vanquished  Verona,  seized  Isotta 
d'Este  and  driven  her  husband,  Delia  Scala,  into  exile. 
From  that  point  we  are  shown  in  a  series  of  swift  scenes 
the  coalition  of  the  d'Estes  under  Delia  Scala  against 
Visconti,  the  rapid  triumph  of  this  reaction  up  to  a 
certain  point,  and  then  its  equally  rapid  wasting  under 
the  assaults  less  of  Milanese  prowess  than  of  Milanese 
treachery.  The  final  isolation  of  Delia  Scala  from  his 
allies,  and  the  supreme  test  to  which  his  fidelity  is  sub- 
jected by  the  almost  diabolic  genius  of  Visconti,  make 
one  of  the  most  superb  climaxes  with  which  we  are 
familiar  in  romantic  drama  or  in  historical  fiction. 

Nor  does  the  author  seem  to  fall  short  of  the  oppor- 
tunity offered  her  for  the  vivid  and  moving  portrayal 
of  the  great  passions  involved  in  so  high  an  action.  For 
many  it  will  constitute  the  prime  marvel  of  an  extraor- 
dinary book  that  its  author,  a  young  girl  of  fifteen  or 
sixteen,  who  knew  nothing  of  Italy,  or  of  the  Italian 


PUBLISHERS'    PREFACE  £fc 

character,  save,  through  books,  could  have  conceived  and 
written  it.  But  if  we  grant  the  extraordinary  precocity 
of  talent  implied  in  the  mere  writing  of  such  a  book  as 
The  Viper  of  Milan,  it  is,  perhaps,  less  remarkable  than 
it  at  first  appears  that  Miss  Bowen  should  have  been  so 
successful  in  grasping  the  purely  Italian  side  of  her 
subject,  in  rendering  the  Italian  psychology.  For  is  not 
youth  the  Italian  age  of  life?  Is  there  not  something  in 
the  ardent  dreams  and  in  the  swift,  uncontrollable  im- 
pulses of  young  natures,  that  finds  itself  in  the  spirit 
of  that  race  which  though  the  eldest  is  still  the  youngest 
race  of  Europe?  The  Italian  soul,  complex  as  it  may 
appear  upon  the  surface,  is  in  essence  simple.  It  is  the 
soul  of  desire,  of  desire  for  the  dream  realized.  Such 
is  the  desire  even  of  a  Visconti,  and  the  soul  of  such 
a  man  makes  him  as  simple  to  seize  upon  as  the  ogre  of 
a  fairy  tale. 

A  fairy  tale! — historical  novels  are  all  fairy  tales,  or 
approximate  to  fairy  tales,  for  the  same  reason,  perhaps, 
that  all  the  fairies,  Puck,  Oberon  and  the  rest  of  them, 
were  once  people  in  history.  Under  all  the  complexity  and 
confusion  of  man's  mental  life  there  lies  the  invincible 
demand  for  the  simple  and  the  absolute  in  his  view  of 
the  past  as  of  the  universe.  The  scholar  and  the  scien- 
tific historian  seek  to  build  up  stone  by  stone,  from  the 
dust-heap  of  the  ages,  the  intricate  web  of  the  past ;  but 
the  historical  novelist,  closer  to  the  imagination  of  the 
race,  seeks  rather  to  reproduce  the  past  in  its  broad  out- 
lines, in  its  ideal  aspects  of  sharply  defined  and  sharply 
opposing  forces. 

We  hear  much  to-day  of  the  death  of  the  historical 
novel  as  a  form  of  art.  And  this  is  because  at  its  best 
to-day  it  has  seemed  a  clever  reconstruction  of  the  past, 
a  pastiche,  as  the  French  call  it,  a  work  of  erudition, 
rather  than  an  appropriation  of  the  past  for  the  purpose 


x  THE   VIPER   OF   MILAN 

of  effecting  a  romantic  release  from  the  uncompromising 
and  prosaic  conditions  of  the  present.  It  is  no  wonder 
that  the  old  romantic  form  of  Scott  and  Dumas,  being 
reduced  to  so  lifeless  a  formula,  should  occasionally  ap- 
pear moribund.  But  it  should  be  remembered  that  what 
proceeds  from  the  mind,  and  is  part  of  it,  can  always  be 
renewed  from  the  mind,  and  that  forms  in  art  are  con- 
stantly being  revitalized  by  some  fresh  creative  impulse. 
And  so  often  as  there  shall  appear  a  writer  like  Miss 
Bowen  capable  of  properly  appraising  the  past,  not  as 
a  shop  stuffed  with  strange  articles  of  attire  and  an- 
tiquities, but  as  a  splendid  stage  set  for  the  performance 
of  a  moving  human  drama,  just  so  often  will  the  his- 
torical novel  renew  its  attraction  over  the  minds  of  all 
men  in  new  creations. 


CONTENTS 

CHAPTER  PAGE 

I.  Gian  Galeazzo  Maria  Visconti   ...      3 

II.     "Francisco" 15 

III.  The  Hostage  of  the  Estes     ....    25 

IV.  Valentine 35 

V.    The  Painter's  Daughter 39 

VI.  The  Rescue  of  Count  von  Schulembourg  .     51 

VII.     "Graziosa's  Bracelet" 58 

VIII.    For  a  Lady's  Gift 75 

DC.  The  Return  of  the  Dead      ....    88 

X.    The  Turquoise  Gloves 99 

XI.     Masttno  della  Scala Ill 

XII.     Graziosa's  Lover 120 

XIII.  Valentine  Visconti's  Toast     .       .      .      .133 

XIV.  The  Tumult  at  the  Western  Gate    .       .144 
XV.    A  Prisoner  from  Milan 157 

XVI.     For  a  Game  of  Chess 165 

XVII.  The  Terrors  of  the  Night    .      .       .       .172 

XVIII.  Giacomo  Carrara's  Reward    .      .       .       .184 

xi 


xii  CONTENTS 

CHAPTER  PAGE 

XIX.     A  Sign  from  Heaven 190 

XX.  In  the  Duke's  Absence         .       .       .       .199 

XXI.    The  Duke's  Return 214 

XXII.     The  Secret  Passage 226 

XXIII.  For  Love  of  Ambrogio 231 

XXIV.  Treachery 238 

XXV.     In  Cloth  of  Gold 243 

XXVI.  In  Visconti's  Hands       .      .      t      .      .255 

XXVII.     Unequal  Odds 267 

XXVIII.     The  Viper 272 

XXIX.  The  Ordeal  of  Mastino  della  Scala     .  287 

XXX.     The  Wedding 303 

XXXI.  The  Pride  of  the  d'Estes   .       .       .       .314 

XXXII.  The  Price  of  Dishonor        .       .       .       .327 

XXXIII.  The  Storm  ........  334 

XXXIV.  An  Instrument  of   God 344 


The  Viper  of  Milan 


UN 


CHAPTER   ONE 

GIAN   GALEAZZO   MARIA   VISCONTI 

IT  is  a  day  in  early  summer,  as  beautiful  as  such  days 
were  in  the  Southern  lands  of  500  years  ago.  It  is  Italy 
steeped  in  golden  sunlight  which  lies  like  a  haze  over 
the  spreading  view;  the  year  1360,  when  cities  were  beau- 
tiful and  nature  all-pervading.  Here  is  Lombardy,  spread 
like  a  garden  in  the  hollow  of  the  hills,  ringed  about 
with  the  purple  Apennines,  covered  with  flowers,  white, 
yellow,  purple,  and  pink.  This  wide  road,  one  of  the  finest 
in  Italy,  winds  from  Milan  to  Brescia,  its  whole  length 
through  chestnut  woods  and  plains  covered  with  flower- 
ing myrtle.  Primroses  in  great  clusters  border  its  sides, 
and  from  the  midst  of  their  delicate  blooms  spring  the 
slender  stems  of  poplar  trees;  these  are  red-gold,  burst- 
ing into  bloom  against  a  tender  sky;  tufts  of  young 
green ;  clumps  of  wild  violets. 

But  for  all  its  unspoiled  beauty,  the  road  was  one  of 
common  use,  for  Milan  was  within  hail.  Villas,  the  sum- 
mer dwellings  of  its  wealthy  peers,  stood  back  among 
the  trees,  surrounded  by  magnificent  grounds.  Behind 
them  beautiful  open  country  spread  into  the  blue  dis- 
tance, fragrant  and  glorious  with  budding  trees.  And  cold 
and  magnificent  the  great  city  itself,  with  its  huge  walls 
and  gates,  crowned  and  emphasized  the  landscape's 
beauty.  The  lines  of  hundreds  of  turrets  and  spires,  bold 
and  delicate,  leaped  up  against  the  sky.  And  paramount, 
catching  the  eye  with  color,  weighing  on  the  mind  with 
meaning,  were  the  city's  banners.  They  floated  from  the 


4  THE   VIPER   OF   MILAN 

gates  and  the  highest  buildings,  half  a  score  of  them,  all 
with  the  same  device.  Far  off  could  that  device  be  read: 
a  green  Viper  on  a  silver  ground:  the  emblazonment  of 
the  Visconti. 

From  afar  the  city  was  a  vision  of  stately  splendor, 
and  the  low  dwellings  clustered  round  about  her  walls,  in 
the  shadow  of  the  palaces,  appeared  to  the  nearing  traveler 
but  a  touch  added  of  the  picturesque.  A  close  survey, 
however,  revealed  semi-ruined  huts ;  in  their  foul  neglect 
and  unsightliness,  a  blot  upon  the  scene.  They  were 
homes  of  peasants,  who,  tattered  and  miserable,  starved 
and  unwashed,  seemed  their  fitting  occupants.  Here 
comes  a  band  of  them  slowly  dragging  along  the  road 
toward  Milan,  men,  women,  and  children,  leading  a  few 
rough-haired  mules,  laden  with  scanty  country  produce. 
It  was  poor  stuff,  and  a  poor  living  they  made  at  it.  The 
wealthy  grew  their  own  fruit  and  vegetables,  the  poorer 
could  not  afford  to  buy.  Crushed  by  hopeless  oppression 
into  a  perpetual  dull  acceptance,  the  crowd  trudged  along, 
with  shuffling  feet  and  bent  heads,  unheeding  the  beauty 
and  the  sunshine,  unnoticing  the  glory  of  the  spring,  with 
dull  faces  from  which  all  the  soul  had  been  stamped 
out,  and  fear  "  writ  large  across  the  blank.  Every  move- 
ment showed  them  slaves,  every  line  in  their  bent  figures 
told  they  lived  under  a  rule  of  terror,  too  potent  for  them 
to  dare  even  to  raise  their  eyes  to  question.  A  stream 
of  gray  and  brown  monotony  along  the  glorious  road, 
decked  with  the  fairest  beauty  of  fair  Italy,  these  miser- 
able peasants  were  strangely  out  of  keeping,  both  with 
the  radiant  blossoming  country  and  the  magnificent  city 
they  drew  near. 

Keeping  close  behind  them  walked  a  young  man  and 
a  boy,  better  attired  than  the  others,  yet  travel-worn  and 
weary-looking.  The  delicate  cast  of  their  features  be- 
spoke them  of  another  part  of  Italy,  as  did  the  soft  Latin 


GIAN    GALEAZZO    MARIA   VISCONTI        5 

tongue  in  which  they  held  their  whispering,  excited  con- 
versation. The  elder,  whom  his  companion  called  Tom- 
aso,  was  a  fair-haired  youth  of  about  nineteen ;  the  other, 
like  enough  to  be  a  relative,  a  mere  child  of  ten  or  twelve. 
The  sun  was  growing  hot,  and  their  stout  cloaks  of  dull 
red  serge  were  flung  back,  showing  their  leathern  doub- 
lets, to  which  the  elder  boy  wore  attached  a  great  pouch 
of  undressed  skin,  which  evidently  bore  their  day's  pro- 
visions. 

Suddenly,  when  Milan,  clear  and  gray,  was  distant 
barely  half  a  mile,  the  group  of  wretched  figures  was 
roused  from  its  shuffling  apathy :  and  the  terror  latent  in 
their  aspect  leaped  into  life  and  motion. 

Swept  back  by  the  others,  the  two  Florentines  gazed 
in  amazement  to  learn  the  cause  of  this  panic.  In  the 
distance,  brilliant  between  the  dark  stone  of  the  gateway 
of  the  city,  fluttered  a  banner,  blazoned  with  the  same 
device  as  those  that  blew  above  the  walls.  The  peasants' 
eyes,  sharpened  by  fear,  were  quicker  than  Tomaso's:  it 
was  some  seconds  before  he  could  discern  that  the  ban- 
ner fluttered  from  the  canopy  of  a  splendid  coach,  mag- 
nificent in  gold  and  scarlet,  issuing  from  the  somber 
shadow  into  the  sunshine  of  the  road;  and  as  it  drew 
nearer,  he  looked  with  pleasure  not  unmixed  with  wonder 
at  the  rich  gildings,  fine  silk,  the  beauty  of  the  four  black 
horses,  the  size  and  magnificent  liveries  of  the  huge  ne- 
groes who  walked  at  their  heads.  To  him  it  was  an  in- 
teresting sight,  an  incident  of  his  travels.  But  to  the 
Milanese  peasants  it  was  the  symbol  of  the  dread  power 
that  ruled  Lombardy  with  a  grip  of  blood,  the  device 
that  kept  Milan,  the  wealthiest,  proudest  city  in  the 
north,  cringing  in  silent  slavery;  the  banner  that  had 
waved  from  city  after  city,  added  by  force  or  treachery 
to  the  dominions  of  Milan;  the  banner  of  Gian  Galeazzo 
Maria  Visconti,  Duke. 


6  THE   VIPER   OF   MILAN 

With  trembling  hands  and  muttered  threats  to  their 
slow  beasts,  the  hinds  dragged  their  burdens  to  the  road- 
side, forcing  the  children  back  into  the  hedges;  leaving 
clear  the  ways.  Cowering  and  awestruck,  in  fascinated 
expectation,  they  stared,  toward  that  oncoming  banner, 
and  at  the  horseman  who  rode  behind. 

Still  at  the  same  measured  pace  the  coach  advanced; 
a  cumbrous  structure,  swung  high  on  massive  gilded 
wheels,  and  open  under  an  embroidered  canopy  of  scarlet 
silk.  At  the  head  of  each  black  horse  walked  a  negro, 
richly  dressed  in  scarlet  and  gold.  The  trappings  of  the 
steeds  were  dazzling,  in  stamped  leather  and  metal. 

But  this  splendor  of  array  the  peasant  folk  of  Lom- 
bardy  were  used  to;  it  was  not  that  that  made  them 
crouch  as  if  they  would  ask  the  earth  to  hide  them,  shiver 
and  shudder  yet  farther  back  as  if  the  soft  green  bank 
could  save  them. 

In  the  coach  sat  two,  a  man  and  a  woman,  but  both 
so  old  and  shrivelled  that  the  distinguishing  character- 
istics of  their  sex  were  well-nigh  lost.  Both  were  richly 
clad  in  furs,  and  half-hidden  in  satin  cushions,  nothing  of 
the  old  man  visible  but  his  wrinkled  face,  gray  beard, 
and,  loaded  with  rings,  thin  yellow  hands,  the  fingers  of 
which  were  clutching  nervously  at  his  heavy  silken  robe. 
The  woman,  painted  and  bedizened  under  a  large  red 
wig,  weighed  down  by  a  gown  of  cloth  of  gold,  and  with 
pearls  around  her  neck,  wrung  her  hands  together,  and 
whispered  incoherently  below  her  breath.  Both  had  sunk 
together  among  the  cushions  in  an  attitude  of  despair, 
the  man  looking  steadily  in  front  of  him  with  white 
face,  the  woman  casting  terror-stricken  eyes  over  the 
wretched  spectators  in  a  mute  appeal  for  help,  if  even 
from  them. 

Behind  them  rode  the  single  horseman  who  had  struck 
the  terror.  His  pace  was  leisurely,  his  horse's  bridle  held 


GIAN    GALEAZZO    MARIA   VISCONTI        7 

by  a  pale-faced  man  with  long  red  hair,  of  a  stealthy 
bearing,  crushed  and  mean-looking,  but  resplendent  in 
a  jeweled  dress.  The  rider  himself,  slight  and  handsome, 
about  thirty,  plainly  attired  in  green,  gave,  at  a  first 
glance,  small  token  of  the  spell  he  exercised.  He  rode 
with  ease  and  surety:  in  one  hand  a  half-rolled  parchment 
from  which  he  read  aloud  in  a  soft  voice,  in  the  other  a 
long  whip  with  which  he  flicked  and  teased  the  occupants 
of  the  carriage. 

The  coach  and  its  occupants,  the  solitary  rider,  and  the 
red-haired  man,  were  the  whole  of  the  procession. 

At  the  rider's  side  hung  a  single  dagger,  the  others 
were  unarmed,  yet  the  crowd  trembled  under  a  spell  of 
fear  as  if  half  Italy  had  backed  that  man.  No  one  gave 
sign  of  feeling,  no  one  moved,  though  the  wretched 
couple  looked  around  keenly  and  eagerly,  with  the  help- 
less misery  of  those  who  have  fallen  below  everything 
save  fear,  and  will  stoop  to  ask  help  of  the  lowest.  And 
the  Visconti  banner  floated  out  dreamily  upon  the  light 
spring  breeze,  and  the  rider  rode  at  ease  and  read  from 
the  parchment  with  a  smiling  face. 

Suddenly  the  old  man  rose,  and  threw  out  his  hands 
with  a  wild  gesture  toward  the  crouching  peasants.  His 
frantic  cry  was  stifled  on  his  lips,  and  a  cut  from  the 
whip  sent  him  back  to  his  seat  with  a  snarl  of  impotent 
fury.  The  woman  sobbed  aloud,  but  sat  still,  for  the  tease 
of  the  whip  followed  their  slightest  movements,  though 
the  horseman  seemed  to  heed  nothing  but  the  parch- 
ment from  which  he  read. 

"  Beautiful  the  Tuscan  flowers  grew 
Around  the  Florentine " 

The  soft  lines  died  away  on  his  smiling  lips:  he  raised 
his  eyes  and  looked  straight  at  the  old  man,  who,  at  the 


8  THE   VIPER   OF   MILAN 

words,  had  turned  in  his  seat  and  was  gazing  over  his 
shoulder  with  an  intensity  of  hate. 

But  on  the  pause  there  followed  a  cold  laugh  as  the  old 
man  winced,  faltered,  and  dropped  his  eyes  from  that 
charmed  and  steady  gaze.  Again  the  whip  circled  round 
them,  and  the  calm  voice  continued : 

"But  straight  and  firm  the  poplars  grew 
The  Lombard  ranks  between." 

The  woman  gazed  around  the  crowd,  desperate  in  hope- 
less misery.  Hopeless  indeed.  Not  a  finger  was  raised, 
not  a  word  uttered,  though,  men  alone,  they  numbered 
more  than  fifty. 

"  Perchance  thou  wouldst  not  dare  to  turn 
And  draw  the  veil  from  off  that  face, 
Fearing  what  secrets  thou  might'st  learn 
Both  for  thine  own  and  her  disgrace," 

read  the  horseman,  and  the  cavalcade  passed  on  its  heavy 
way,  and  the  faint  hope  that  had  leaped  to  life  within  the 
wretched  victims,  at  sight  of  human  eyes  upon  them, 
died  within  them. 

But  on  the  outside  of  the  crowd,  Tomaso  and  Vittore, 
kneeling  with  the  rest,  as  that  banner  drew  near,  now 
stirred  uneasily,  and,  as  the  coach  came  abreast,  the 
woman  made  a  convulsive  movement  with  her  hands. 
The  elder  sprang  to  his  feet  and  stepped  forward  impul- 
sively. At  sight  of  him  in  the  roadway  the  horseman 
drew  rein,  and  the  terror-stricken  crowd  watched  breath- 
less, while  the  youth  advanced  boldly  to  his  stirrup,  hot 
words  upon  his  lips,  defiance  in  his  eyes.  The  red-haired 
man  at  the  bridle  crouched,  but  before  the  lad  could 
speak,  the  rider,  leaning  forward,  struck  him  a  blow  full 
across  the  face. 

There  was  no  need  for  a  second.  With  a  scream  of 
pain,  Tomaso  fell  back,  and  then,  as  if  noticing  them  for 


GIAN   GALEAZZO    MARIA   VISCONTI        o 

the  first  time,  the  horseman  sent  his  glance  on  the  crowd. 
No  sound  or  movement:  they  cowered  beneath  his  eyes 
in  deprecating  silence. 

"  Drive  on,"  he  said,  and  the  dreary  procession  started 
again,  winding  through  the  sun  and  shadow  toward 
Brescia. 

So  great  was  the  spell  upon  the  peasants,  that  though 
the  wounded  boy  lay  moaning  in  the  road,  not  a  man, 
scarce  a  child  among  them  stirred  from  his  place  till  the 
banner  of  the  Viper  was  a  silver  speck  in  the  distance. 

Then  with  shaking  hands  the  youth  was  dragged  into 
the  ditch  amid  a  babble  of  blame  and  fear.  Vittore,  rising 
from  his  stricken  comrade,  gazed  into  the  distance  with 
horror-stricken  eyes. 

"  Who  was  it?  "  he  whispered  at  last  to  the  woman  near 
him.  "Who  was  it?" 

She  turned  a  dull  face  up  from  the  scattered  vegetables 
she  was  gathering  together. 

"  Who  art  thou  that  thou  knowest  not?  "  she  asked. 

"  I  come  from  Florence,"  said  the  lad  quickly,  "  trav- 
eling to  Verona." 

"  To  Verona !  Thou  art  not  on  thy  way  to  Verona 
here." 

"  I  know  it,  but  the  company  we  traveled  with  was 
bound  for  Milan.  Three  days  ago  we  missed  them,  and 
thought  to  find  them  in  the  city  where  we  looked  to 
spend  the  night,  but  now " 

He  glanced  at  his  companion  and  could  scarce  refrain 
from  weeping. 

"  To  Verona!  "  said  an  old  peasant,  turning  sharply  at 
the  name.  "  To  Verona!  " 

The  child  dropped  again  to  his  knees  beside  Tomaso. 

"  Yes,"  he  said,  over  his  shoulder.  "  My  cousin — he  is 
done  to  death,  I  fear  me — and  I  were  traveling  by  way 
of  Milan  to  Delia  Scala's  court " 


io  THE   VIPER   OF   MILAN 

He  broke  off,  and  wrung  his  hands.  "  Oh,  help  me, 
some  one ;  Tomaso  is  dying !  " 

With  a  certain  dull  humanity,  kindness  it  could 
scarcely  be  called  that  was  so  inert  and  full  of  apathy, 
one  or  two  of  them  gave  what  help  they  could. 

"  Thou  art  from  Florence !  "  said  the  old  man  again. 
"  Aye,  indeed,  I  knozv  thou  art  from  Florence,  for  thy 
mate  here  to  have  had  such  daring.  Why  earnest  thou 
from  Florence  to  anywhere  by  way  of  Milan?  " 

For  even  to  the  dull  mind  of  the  peasantry,  Florence, 
who  alone  of  the  cities  of  Italy  had  preserved  her  liberty, 
seemed  a  country  of  the  free,  a  republic  of  equality. 

"  Tomaso's  father  sent  for  him  to  come  to  him  in  Delia 
Scala's  court,  and  as  last  year  my  father  was  slain  in  the 
wars  with  Venice,  since  then  I  have  resided  with  my 
cousin — and  so  accompany  him — having  naught  else 
to  do!" 

The  boy  looked  up  bewildered;  he  was  half-dazed  with 
this  sudden  misfortune. 

"We  go  to  Verona!"  he  repeated.  "We  have  food 
and  a  little  money — if  only  this  had  not  happened!  " 

He  turned  to  his  prostrate  cousin  and  burst  into 
tears. 

The  woman  looked  at  him  with  pity:  the  old  peasant 
shrugged  his  shoulders. 

"Thy  cousin  was  over-bold!  As  well  face  the  evil 
one — "  he  mumbled  and  crossed  himself,  "  as  step  into 
the  path  of  the — "  he  stopped  abruptly  and  cast  uneasy 
glances  around  him. 

"And  that?"  cried  the  boy,  his  tears  arrested,  "that 
man  on  horseback?  " 

"That  was  the  Visconti!  Aye!  Gian  Galeazzo  Maria, 
Duke  of  Milan!" 

The  lad  gazed  down  the  road  with  interest  and  new 
terror. 


GIAN    GALEAZZO    MARIA   VISCONTI       n 

"  The  Duke  of  Milan!  He  who  lately  warred  with  Flor- 
ence! "  he  cried  breathlessly. 

"Aye,  and  beat  her!  "  There  was  a  touch  of  pride  in 
the  answer,  for  the  peasant  was  of  Milan.  But  the  boy 
did  not  notice  the  remark,  he  was  too  absorbed  in  terri- 
fied conjecture. 

"  And  they  in  the  carriage — ?  "  he  whispered. 

A  silence  fell.  The  crowd  shuffled  away  from  him,  and 
turned  their  faces  to  the  city.  Used  to  scenes  of  horror 
as  they  were,  the  cavalcade  that  had  just  passed  them 
seemed,  even  to  their  half  hearts,  to  have  chilled  the  sun- 
light with  its  terror. 

A  young  woman  suddenly  snatched  her  child  up 
from  the  ground  and  strained  it  to  her,  in  a  passion  of 
distress. 

"  Oh,  Luigi,  Luigi,  my  little  child,  it  was  his  father 
and  mother,  his  father  and  mother!  " 

She  grasped  the  old  man's  arm.  "  Marked  you  how  she 
looked  at  me?"  she  cried. 

The  peasant  checked  her  outbreak,  but  looked  down 
the  road  with  gloomy  eyes. 

"  They  will  never  return  from  Brescia,"  he  said;  "  they 
must  be  near  seventy — old  for  such  an  end.  However, 
hush  thee,  woman,  'tis  no  affair  of  ours!  "  Several  anx- 
ious voices  echoed  him. 

"  Why  should  we  care!  "  said  one,  "  'tis  a  Visconti  the 
less  to  crush  us." 

And  Vittore  saw  the  whole  band  turning  off,  pushing, 
driving,  and  urging  their  beasts  along.  He  dragged  at 
his  still  senseless  companion  in  a  sudden  panic. 

"  Help  me!  "  he  said.  "  We  would  on;  I  dare  not  stay 
alone." 

The  old  man  laughed  harshly. 

"  Where  will  you  on  to?  Are  we  to  drag  you  into 
Milan  to  be  whipped  to  death  for  harboring  you;  and 


12  THE   VIPER   OF   MILAN 

Verona  is  in  the  hands  of  the  Visconti — his  last  and 
greatest  victory!  " 

"  But  my  uncle — Delia  Scala's  court !  "  cried  the  boy 
distractedly.  The  old  man  drew  himself  up  in  his  rags 
and  spoke  with  a  mixture  of  pride  and  awe. 

"  Mastino  della  Scala  perished  in  the  flames  of  his 
burning  palace;  his  wife  is  a  prisoner,  yonder  in  Milan, 
in  the  Visconti's  hands.  Thou  hast  not  much  to  look  for 
from  Della  Scala's  court,"  he  said. 

"  Hold  thy  peace !  Hold  thy  peace ! "  cried  angry 
voices.  "  What  hast  thou  to  do  with  such  as  he  ?  "  and 
the  old  man,  whose  better  intelligence  made  him  a  source 
of  danger  to  the  others,  was  dragged  away. 

"  But  thou  wilt  not  leave  me  here  ?  "  said  Vittore,  in 
distress.  "Where  shall  I  go?  What  shall  I  do?"  But 
the  peasant  folk  were  not  much  moved  by  his  misfor- 
tunes, too  much  used  to  scenes  like  this. 

*  We  risk  our  necks  by  staying  by  thee,"  growled  one 
dark-browed  man.  "  As  for  thy  companion,  it  is  his  own 
mad  doing.  He  is  dead,  and  we  may  be  dead  this  time 
to-morrow,  and  kicked  into  the  ditch  like  him." 

Even  the  woman  listened  blankly  to  his  entreaties,  and 
the  throng  sullenly  departed  on  its  way. 

"  Any  moment  a  soldier  of  the  Visconti  may  come  by, 
or  the  Visconti  himself  may  return,  then  anyone  found 
tending  one  of  his  victims  will  be  in  sorry  plight."  This, 
mumbled  out  with  curses  at  the  delay,  was  their  only 
answer. 

The  peasants  of  Lombardy  lived  in  the  shadow  of  an 
awful  name.  Gian  Galeazzo  Maria  Visconti  knew  neither 
fear  of  God  nor  man,  neither  pity  nor  remorse. 

The  young  Florentine  sank  down  upon  the  grass,  and 
looked  after  the  retreating  train  in  mute  distress.  To 
seek  for  help  would  mean  to  leave  his  cousin,  and  he 
could  not  move  him.  Tomaso  lay  in  a  deep  swoon,  for 


GIAN    GALEAZZO    MARIA   VISCONTI       13 

the  blow  had  driven  him  back  upon  a  stone.  Terribly 
wounded  about  the  face,  Tomaso  added  to  his  young 
cousin's  distress  by  his  ghastly  appearance,  his  head 
bound  in  rough  bandages,  torn  from  Vittore's  clothing, 
and  now  darkly  stained  with  blood.  The  boy  wrung  his 
hands  and  looked  up  and  down  the  road — no  one  in  sight. 

It  was  just  after  the  victory  in  the  long-standing  wars 
between  the  cities ;  Verona  had  fallen  into  the  Visconti's 
hands ;  interchange  of  traffic  was  for  the  time  laid  low ; 
the  road  was  likely  to  be  deserted,  and  for  hours  none 
passed. 

The  boy  dragged  Tomaso's  head  and  shoulders  as  far 
into  the  shade  as  he  could  manage,  remoistened  the 
bandages  about  his  head,  and  tried  to  force  down  his 
throat  some  of  the  food  and  drink  they  carried.  But  the 
youth  muttered  between  clenched  teeth,  and  lay  with 
wide-staring  eyes,  inert  and  unresponsive.  His  con- 
sciousness had  returned,  but  he  was  delirious  in  fever. 
As  the  day  wore  on,  new  and  sickening  terror  seized  on 
Vittore.  The  Visconti  would  return  to  Milan!  Hiding 
his  face  in  his  hands,  he  sobbed  aloud.  Since  the  bright 
dawn  of  the  morning,  what  a  change  in  prospects  1  Delia 
Scala's  court  a  ruin — and  Tomaso's  father — his  uncle,  the 
only  parent  he  had  ever  known — what  of  him!  And  To- 
maso too!  He  must  sit  there  and  see  him  die  beside  him. 
As  the  noontide  waned,  he  had  fallen  again  into  stupor, 
and  the  boy  looked  at  his  changed  face  distractedly. 

"  He  is  dead!  "  he  cried,  "  I  know  he  is  dead!  "  But 
he  dared  not  leave  him;  besides,  Milan  held  a  terror, 
and  he  would  scarcely  dare  to  enter  it.  Perhaps  when  the 
peasants  returned  they  might  have  pity  on  them;  if  not 
— again  his  sobs  filled  up  the  lonely  outlook.  The  long 
hours  dragged  by;  a  horseman  passed,  a  mercenary  laden 
with  some  plunder  from  Verona;  he  did  not  even  turn  in 
his  saddle.  A  few  peasants  slowly  came  back  from  Milan, 


i4  THE   VIPER   OF   MILAN 

seeking  their  huts  around  the  neighboring  villas.  But 
they  were  as  deaf  to  his  cries  as  before;  he  could  come 
with  them  if  he  liked;  but  the  other — he  was  dead  and 
killed  by  the  Visconti;  let  him  lie  there.  And  now  Vittore 
was  in  despair;  the  sun  was  beginning  to  drop  behind  the 
trees,  the  delicate  stems  of  the  poplars  stretched  in  long 
blue  shadows,  the  faint  golden  light  lay  across  the  prim- 
roses, making  them  fairylike.  Suddenly  a  step  aroused 
him.  Some  one  along  the  road.  He  started  to  his  feet, 
and  there,  still  in  the  distance,  but  rapidly  approaching, 
was  the  figure  of  a  traveler,  his  shadow  thrown  before 
him,  his  face  set  toward  Milan. 


CHAPTER   TWO 

"  FRANCISCO  " 

A  GLEAM  of  hope  sent  Vittore  forward.  Here  was 
some  one  who,  alone  and  on  foot,  must  know  the  perils 
of  travel,  and  might  be  kind-hearted;  though,  with  To- 
maso  dead,  what  even  pity  could  do  for  him  he  scarcely 
knew.  Then  again  the  boy's  heart  failed  him.  Perhaps 
this  was  no  more  than  some  wandering  robber.  He 
paused,  drew  back,  and  the  traveler  came  on  not  notic- 
ing him,  his  gaze  fixed  keenly  on  the  distant  city. 

By  the  roadside  some  boulders,  half-hidden  in  violets 
and  golden  with  moss,  offered  a  seat,  and  half-stumbling 
over  them,  the  stranger  abruptly  withdrew  his  eyes  from 
Milan  and  saw  for  the  first  time  the  boy,  who  from  a  few 
paces  off  was  timorously  observing  him. 

He  was  a  powerful  man  of  gigantic  size,  clothed  in 
coarse  leather,  undressed,  patched,  slashed,  and  travel- 
worn.  His  legs  were  bound  with  straw  and  thongs  of 
skin,  the  feet  encased  in  rough  wooden  shoes  stuffed  with 
grass. 

A  battered  leathern  cap  covered  his  head,  and  from 
his  shoulder  hung  a  ragged  scarlet  cloak.  A  dagger  and 
a  sword  were  stuck  in  his  belt,  a  leather  pouch  hung  at 
his  side.  The  man's  face  and  bearing  belied  his  dress.  He 
was  not  handsome,  and  a  peculiar  effect  was  given  to  the 
expression  by  the  half-shut  brown  eyes,  but  he  had  a 
grave  and  stately  bearing,  and  as  he  a  little  unclosed  a 
searching  gaze  upon  Vittore,  the  boy  felt  renewed  en- 
couragement. 

'5 


16  THE   VIPER   OF   MILAN 

"  Sir,"  cried  the  lad  advancing,  "  I  am  in  great  dis- 
tress. My  cousin  lies  there  dead,  or  dying.  Help  me  to 
get  him  to  some  shelter.,, 

"  I  am  a  stranger  here,"  replied  the  traveler,  "  and  have 
no  shelter  for  myself  to-night." 

His  accent,  like  his  bearing,  again  belied  his  dress.  He 
spoke  in  the  refined  Tuscan  tongue,  the  language  of  the 
better  classes,  and  to  Vittore,  who  was  gently  nurtured, 
more  familiar  than  the  rough  dialect  of  Lombardy,  which 
he  and  Tomaso  could  only  badly  comprehend. 

"  But  what  I  can  find  for  myself,"  he  added,  "  thou  art 
welcome  to  share.  Where  is  thy  cousin?" 

Vittore  pointed  to  the  recumbent  figure  half-hidden 
in  the  bank ;  the  man  glanced  across,  then  around  him. 
The  sun  was  almost  set,  a  whole  flock  of  delicate  little 
pink  clouds  lay  trembling  over  Milan,  its  noble  outline 
already  half  in  shadow. 

"  It  will  be  dark  soon,"  he  said,  "  and  perchance — "  he 
broke  off  abruptly.  "Thy  cousin,  didst  thou  say? — what 
has  happened  to  him?  Wounded  in  some  roadside  fray?  " 

He  rose  as  he  spoke  and  crossed  over  to  the  fallen  boy. 
"  And  what  are  you  two  doing  traveling  alone?"  he  de- 
manded sternly. 

"  Alas,  messer,  we  were  going  to  Verona." 

"  To  Verona,  by  way  of  Milan?  " 

"  We  had  no  choice.  The  company  we  traveled  with 
were  bound  hither,  but  three  days  ago  we  missed  them, 
and  came  on  here  alone,  lest  perhaps  they  had  preceded 
us.  But  for  this  accident  we  thought  to  pass  the  night 
in  Milan — but  now,  what  shall  we  do?  and  we  hear  that 
Verona  has  been  taken!  " 

The  stranger  was  bending  over  Tomaso,  and  Vittore 
did  not  see  his  face. 

"  How  did  this  happen?  "  he  asked  presently,  touching 
the  mark  upon  Tomaso's  face.  And  Vittore  told  him. 


"FRANCISCO"  17 

The  stranger  was  quiet  a  long  breath. 

"  So  this  is  Visconti  's  doing,"  he  said  at  last.  "  Thy 
cousin  is  a  brave  lad." 

And  he  fell  again  into  a  silence  which  Vittore  dared 
not  break,  while  under  the  stranger's  care  Tomaso 
opened  his  eyes,  and  feebly  muttered  and  tried  to  rise. 
But  the  other  bade  him  wait  a  while,  and  turned  to  Vit- 
tore again. 

"  And  which  way  did  Visconti  ride?"  he  asked. 

The  boy  pointed.  "  The  peasants  said  it  was  toward 
Brescia." 

"  And  he  has  not  yet  re-entered  Milan  ?  " 

"  No,  messer."  By  now  Vittore  felt  and  showed 
respect. 

"  Then  we  will  not  enter  Milan  either,"  said  the 
stranger,  "  since  Visconti  has  not." 

The  boy  gazed  on  him,  struck  by  his  tone,  and  To- 
maso's  eyes,  half-closing,  reopened  and  fixed  themselves 
upon  the  stranger's  face. 

"  Messer,  you  hate  Visconti?"  whispered  Vittore. 

The  man  laughed  shortly.  "  There  are  many  in  Lom- 
bardy  who  hate  Visconti,"  he  said.  "  Perhaps  I  not  less 
than  others.  Boy,"  he  added,  with  sudden  intensity,  "  I 
have  only  two  things  to  live  for:  one  is  to  tell  Visconti  to 
his  face  what  one  man's  hatred  is." 

And  leaving  them  half-terrified,  he  strode  into  the  road, 
and  shading  his  eyes  looked  long  and  searchingly  away 
from  Milan ;  but  the  dusk  was  settling  fast,  not  a  soul  in 
sight,  not  a  sound. 

Presently,  with  an  air  of  relief,  born  of  new-sprung 
resolution,  the  stranger  returned  to  the  expectant  boys. 

Revived  by  his  tendance  and  by  the  cool  evening  air, 
Tomaso  was  helped  upon  his  feet.  Vittore  clasped  his 
hands  in  joy  to  see  him  move  again. 

"  Messer,  how  shall  we  thank  thee!  "  he  exclaimed. 


18  THE   VIPER   OF   MILAN 

"  Call  me  Francisco,"  said  the  traveler.  "  Thou  wert 
journeying  to  Verona,  didst  thou  say?  What  kinsman 
hast  thou  there?  " 

"  My  father,"  whispered  Tomaso  feebly,  "  Georgio 
Ligozzi."  Leaning  against  the  stranger,  indeed  half- 
carried  by  him,  Tomaso  felt  him  start.  "  Thou  knewest 
him,  messer?  " 

"  He  was  put  high  in  favor  at  Delia  Scala's  court,  and 
sent  for  us  to  share  his  fortune,"  put  in  Vittore  eagerly. 

"  Ah,"  said  Francisco.  "  Delia  Scala's  court  has  per- 
ished. I  am  from  Verona.  I  saw  it  burned." 

Tomaso's  head  sunk  dizzily  upon  his  helper's  shoulder. 
Vittore's  young  heart  swelled,  then  seemed  to  break 
within  him.  He  choked  back  his  sobs. 

"  And  Delia  Scala — and  my  uncle :  did  they  perish 
too?" 

"  Who  can  tell  ?  "  replied  the  stranger  sternly.  "  Who 
shall  say  who  perished  or  who  not  on  such  a  night  as  that 
on  which  Verona  fell  ?  " 

"  But  Delia  Scala's  wife,  the  Duchess,  is  yonder,  pris- 
oner in  Milan." 

"  And  that  proves,  thou  thinkest,  Delia  Scala  must  be 
dead!  Maybe;  who  knows?  All  the  same,  thou  art  a 
brave  lad  and  a  gallant  for  the  thought." 

He  paused  to  rest  Tomaso  on  the  boulders  that  had 
been  his  seat.  "  And  for  that  speech  of  thine  I'll  tell 
thee  something,  boy.  I  am  the  Visconti's  foe.  For  the 
sake  of  Delia  Scala,  whom  I  knew,  for  the  sake  of  Ve- 
rona, where  I  lived,  for  the  sake  of  something  dearer  to 
a  man  than  life,  I  am  sworn  to  hunt  him  down — and  now, 
no  more.  We  will  see  to  shelter. 

Resting  Tomaso's  head  against  his  knee,  Francisco 
turned  a  trained  and  searching  gaze  about  him. 

To  the  right,  on  some  thickly  wooded,  slightly  rising 
ground,  could  be  discerned  the  unmistakable  outline  of  a 


"  FRANCISCO  "  19 

great  wall,  built  to  a  monstrous  height,  no  doubt  the 
boundary  of  a  villa  of  unusual  size  and  magnificence.  Be- 
neath the  wall,  half-hidden  by  a  grove  of  chestnuts,  was 
the  usual  cluster  of  huts :  the  dwellings  of  the  hinds  and 
vassals  of  the  villa's  noble  owner.  But  no  smoke  trailed 
upward,  nor  did  any  sign  of  life  strike  upon  the  ear. 

M  We  will  try  those  huts  yonder,"  said  Francisco. 
"  They  are  far  enough  from  the  road  for  security,  yet  not 
too  far  to  hamper  any  return  hither.  They  seem  deserted, 
but  even  if  inhabited,  they  are  scarce  likely  to  refuse  me 
shelter  for  a  wounded  boy." 

And  Vittore,  looking  at  his  size  and  stern  appearance, 
thankfully  agreed  with  him.  Almost  carrying  Tomaso, 
Francisco  led  the  way,  and  quickly  reached  a  footpath 
which,  after  many  twistings,  brought  them  out  into  a 
turf-grown  opening  around  three  sides  of  which  the  cot- 
tages were  built.  The  fourth  was  the  wall  enclosing  the 
grounds,  and  along  it,  bordering  a  ditch,  ran  a  pleasant 
path  which,  as  they  subsequently  discovered,  led  to  a 
small  stream,  artificially  extended,  where  it  passed  the 
villa,  to  a  lake  of  some  not  inconsiderable  size. 

But,  as  Francisco  had  surmised,  the  whole  place  stood 
empty  and  deserted,  though  it  could  not  have  been  long 
since  the  fagots  had  blazed  on  the  open  hearths.  Signs 
of  occupation  were  too  recent. 

The  wayfarers  gazed  about  them  wonderingly.  It  was 
a  place  of  charm.  The  fast-grown  grass  was  thick  with 
flowers;  and  a  wooden  bucket  hung  idly  from  its  chain 
above  the  wooden  runnel. 

Supporting  Tomaso,  Francisco  turned  into  the  nearest 
hut,  and  noted  it  was  better  fashioned  and  better  fitted 
than  many  of  the  like.  A  low  doorway  admitted  into  the 
long  divisions  of  the  space,  each  lit  by  small  square 
openings  in  the  walls.  The  light  by  now  had  faded,  and 
save  that  it  was  empty  of  life,  little  else  would  have  been 


20  THE   VIPER   OF   MILAN 

discernible,  but  a  portion  of  the  roof  had  been  broken 
away,  as  if  by  some  pikeman's  reckless  thrust,  and 
through  the  gap  some  of  the  sweet  spring  dusk  showed 
them  faintly  their  surroundings.  A  few  stools,  a  wooden 
table,  roughly  hewn,  a  broken  earthenware  bowl,  and  a 
rudely  painted  crucifix,  half-torn  from  the  wall,  com- 
pleted the  furniture. 

"  They  fled  in  haste,"  said  Francisco  grimly.  "  Has 
Visconti  been  here  too?  " 

"  See,"  cried  Vittore,  and  he  picked  up  from  his  feet 
a  silver  goblet. 

The  other  turned  from  where  he  had  laid  Tomaso  down 
and  took  it  from  him  eagerly. 

The  piece  was  heavily  chased,  bearing  a  raised  shield 
wrought  with  the  German  eagle  and  lettering  "  C.S." 

"  German,"  he  said.  "  Plunder.  Possibly  from  the  villa. 
This  may  account  for  its  desertion.  Yes — no  doubt:  the 
owner  of  the  villa  has  crossed  Visconti's  path." 

And  his  teeth  ground  over  the  name  as  he  set  the 
goblet  on  the  table,  where  it  gleamed  with  a  faint  ghostly 
light. 

"  Sleep,"  he  said  presently  to  Vittore.  "  Eat  this  and 
then  sleep.  Thou  canst  do  so  with  safety." 

The  boy,  glancing  up  into  his  face,  believed  him,  and 
was  soon  lost  to  everything  in  the  deep  sleep  of  utter 
weariness  of  mind  and  body.  Francisco  bent  above  To- 
maso and  gave  him  wine  to  swallow,  and  set  water  by  his 
side.  The  youth  caught  the  hand  that  tended  him  and 
kissed  it. 

"  I  am  grateful,"  he  murmured.  "  To-morrow  I  shall  be 
well." 

"  Aye,  get  better,"  said  Francisco.  "  Thou  mayst  be  of 
some  service  if  thou  wilt.  Nay,"  he  added,  checking 
Tomaso's  feeble  but  eager  impulse,  "  I  know  not  yet  what 
I  can  do  myself.  But  we  have  a  cause  in  common,"  and 


"  FRANCISCO  "  21 

he  smiled  faintly.  "  And  now  sleep.  You  sought  Delia 
Scala's  court.  I  will  not  desert  thee." 

Taking  his  tattered  cloak  from  his  shoulders,  he  laid 
it  over  him,  and  Tomaso  lay  back  on  the  ready  spread 
couch  of  heather,  and  watched  peacefully. 

There  was  no  light  in  the  hut,  but  the  moonshine  began 
to  show  across  the  open  doorway.  Francisco  pulled  a 
stool  to  the  table,  and  sitting,  drew  out  his  dagger  and 
carefully  examined  it;  laid  it  ready.  Then  he  felt  in  his 
wallet  as  if  to  reassure  himself  of  something,  and  then 
Tomaso  saw  him  slip  something  on  his  hand — it  gleamed: 
a  ring! 

"Who  is  he?"  thought  the  youth,  not  sure  he  gazed 
upon  reality.  "  Who  is  he?  " 

Then  he  dozed  unwittingly,  and,  waking  with  a  start, 
saw  the  moonlight  streaming  through  the  broken  roof, 
the  faint  stars,  and  near  him  Vittore  sleeping.  The  goblet 
still  shone  upon  the  crazy  table,  but  the  hut  door  had  been 
closed  and,  save  for  themselves,  the  place  was  empty. 

Francisco  stepped  out  into  the  spring  night,  fire  beat- 
ing at  his  temples :  Visconti  was  abroad ! 

The  moon,  half-shrouded  in  a  misty  vapor,  was  rising 
above  the  fragrant  chestnuts,  and  brilliant  in  the  semi- 
dark,  like  flame  behind  a  veil,  the  clumps  of  wallflowers 
gave  out  intoxicating  scent. 

Francisco  noticed  them,  and  thought  grimly  they  were 
the  color  of  blood  just  dry. 

The  spell  of  the  moon  and  of  the  hour  lay  on  every- 
thing; a  weird  ghostliness  seemed  to  step  among  the 
trees ;  a  sighing  came  from  the  great  bushes  in  the  garden 
of  the  villa:  "  Visconti  is  abroad!  " 

Francisco  touched  his  dagger  and  went  forward. 
Across  his  path  two  white  moths  fluttered,  white  by  day, 
now  silver  purple,  illusive  and  mysterious.  To  the  man's 


22  THE   VIPER   OF   MILAN 

fevered  mood  they  seemed  an  omen ;  souls  of  the  dead 
allowed  to  take  farewell  of  earth ;  and  with  straining  eyes 
he  watched  them  float  away  and  up,  and  out  of  sight. 
"  Who  had  perchance  just  died?  " 

Francisco's  giant  sinews  tightened.  He  went  forward 
swiftly  to  the  road,  and  strained  his  eyes  and  ears  along 
its  silver  length. 

Nothing  to  be  heard!  nothing  to  be  seen!  Had  he  lost 
his  chance,  had  the  Duke  re-entered  Milan?  Or  had  he 
gone  too  far  to  return  that  night?  He  sat  upon  the 
boulders  where  he  had  rested  previously,  his  face  turned 
toward  Brescia,  his  hand  upon  his  dagger. 

The  soft  air  was  strengthening  into  a  gentle  wind ;  the 
poplar  leaves  were  dancing,  and  darkening  clouds  began 
to  drive  across  the  moon.  But  the  man  heeded  nothing 
the  changing;  light  or  dark,  what  matter  once  Visconti 
had  crossed  his  path?  Long  he  waited.  Not  a  sound  save 
the  dancing  of  the  leaves,  the  rising  wind,  the  soft  noises 
of  the  night.  At  length  Francisco  leaped  to  his  feet,  and 
his  breath  came  short  and  fast.  He  could  hear  something. 
The  wind  was  against  him.  He  lay  down;  he  put  his  ear 
to  the  ground;  then  he  leaped  to  his  feet  again,  trans- 
formed. It  was  unmistakable,  though  still  far  off;  the 
thud  of  horses'  flying  feet. 

Francisco  waited. 

With  each  second  the  wind  rose;  the  clouds  raced  and 
gathered,  and  darkened  half  the  sky,  and  the  man,  strain- 
ing every  nerve,  thought  at  first  it  was  the  wind  he  heard 
mingling  with  the  trample  of  the  oncoming  hoofs.  Then 
he  knew  it  for  screams  of  fury  and  wild  shouting.  "  It 
is  the  Visconti,"  he  said,  and  involuntarily  his  tense  arm 
sank  and  his  muscles  loosened;  those  mad  shrieks  could 
freeze  the  marrow. 

Nearer  came  the  onset,  trampling  horse  and  yelling 
rider;  and  Francisco  set  himself  anew. 


"  FRANCISCO  "  23 

"  He  rides  with  his  own  soul  for  company,"  he  mut- 
tered grimly. 

Now  the  furious  cries  came  clearly,  terrible,  inhuman; 
and  in  another  moment,  horse  and  rider  were  in  view. 

"Yes.  Visconti." 

Standing  in  the  stirrups,  he  lashed  at  the  foaming 
horse  in  a  blind  rage  and  horror.  His  cap  was  gone,  and 
hair  and  cloak  were  blown  about  him.  He  shouted  wildly, 
cursed  and  shrieked. 

For  a  breath  Francisco  paused.  This  could  be  no  hu- 
man rider;  well  was  it  known  in  Lombardy  that  the  Vis- 
conti trafficked  with  the  fiend,  and  this  must  be  he;  and 
the  man  shrank  and  turned  his  eyes,  lest  he  should  see 
his  damning  face. 

But  the  next  instant  his  courage  and  his*  purpose  had 
returned. 

The  horse  was  upon  him.  Swift  as  thought,  Francisco 
leaped  and  clutched  the  bridle  in  a  hand  of  steel. 

But  the  mad  impetus  defeated  him.  He  was  dragged 
forward  like  a  reed ;  only  his  own  great  strength  for  the 
moment  saved  him.  And  now  his  wild  shouts  were  added 
to  the  rider's.  He  struck  upward  with  his  dagger;  he  tore 
blindly. 

"  Do  you  not  know  me,  Visconti?  "  he  called.  "  Do  you 
not  know  me?" 

But  his  dagger  was  dashed  from  him.  The  horse's  foam 
blinded  him  as  it  sprang  desperately  on.  He  heard  Vis- 
conti's  demon  scream,  and  as  the  earth  whirled  round 
with  him,  caught  one  fleeting  glimpse  of  the  white,  dis- 
torted, hated  face — then,  he  was  prone  upon  the  ground, 
and  Visconti,  spurring  on  his  way,  looked  back  upon 
him  with  triumphant  yells. 

"Fly,  fly!"  he  screamed,  "they  are  after  us,  but  we 
escape  them.  Fly!" 

The  dawn  was  showing  when  Francisco,  spent  with 


24  THE   VIPER   OF   MILAN 

the  passion  of  failure  rather  than  from  any  hurt,  came 
slowly  back  and  picked  his  dagger  from  the  road.  Not 
far  from  it  he  saw  a  parchment  roll  tossed  from  Vis- 
conti's  doublet  in  that  frantic  forward  lunge — Visconti 
who  had  safely  disappeared  within  the  walls  of  Milan ! 

Francisco  picked  up  the  roll. 

It  was  inscribed  with  poetry  and  patched  with  blood. 


sai 
an 


CHAPTER   THREE 

THE    HOSTAGE   OF   THE   ESTES 

A  HUNDRED  thousand  florins — and  no  more,  even  if 
they  refuse  the  bargain." 

It  was  the  Visconti  who  spoke.  In  a  small  dark  room 
in  the  Visconti  palace,  he  and  the  pale-faced,  red-haired 
man,  who  had  held  the  bridle  of  his  horse  two  days 
before  in  the  procession  that  had  wended  toward 
Brescia,  were  seated  opposite  to  one  another  at  the 
table;  between  them  a  pile  of  papers  over  which  the 
secretary  bowed  his  shoulders. 

"  The  demand  is  a  hundred  and  fifty,  my  lord,"  he 
said,  his  voice  meek,  his  eyes  furtive. 

"  They  said  two  hundred  to  begin  with,"  was  the  curt 

swer.  "  A  hundred  thousand  florins,  or  I  go  else- 
where." 

The  secretary's  pen  flew  nervously  across  the  parch- 
ment, filling  it  with  a  cramped,  mean  writing  that 
trailed  unevenly  along  the  page.  Visconti's  secretary 
wrote  a  characteristic  hand.  Visconti  leaned  back  in  his 
chair,  watching  him  in  silence. 

The  room  was  small  and  circular,  hung  with  leather 
stamped  in  gold,  and  furnished  plainly  even  to  bare- 
ness. A  narrow  lancet  window,  placed  low  in  the  wall, 
admitted  a  subdued  light,  which  fell  upon  the  only  spot 
of  color  in  the  room,  the  suit  of  turquoise  blue  the 
secretary  wore. 

"  A  hundred  thousand  florins,  to  be  paid  in  gold," 
repeated  Visconti ;  "  and  no  more,  Giannotto." 

*5 


26  THE   VIPER   OF   MILAN 

He  rose  and  began  to  pace  the  room.  Long  habit  and 
constant  contact  had  not  lessened  the  secretary's  fear  of 
Visconti,  nor  mitigated  the  hate,  none  the  less  intensified 
for  being  forever  concealed  under  the  mask  of  cringing 
servility.  But  in  Giannotto's  dislike  there  was  nothing 
noble;  it  was  merely  mean  hate  of  a  sordid  soul  that 
grudged  the  success  of  the  bold  crimes  itself  could  never 
dare  to  undertake.  Had  the  secretary  been  in  Visconti's 
place,  there  would  have  been  as  vile  a  tyrant,  of  equal 
cruelty  and  far  less  courage. 

The  Duke  moved  to  the  window  and  stood  there  in 
observation  awhile,  then  turning,  spoke  to  Giannotto 
with  a  smile.  His  eyes  were  a  beautiful  gray,  open  wide, 
and  just  now  lighting  up  a  pensive,  pleasant  face.  But 
the  secretary  knew  it  too  under  a  different  guise. 

"  My  sister's  alliance  with  the  Duke  of  Orleans  grati- 
fies my  ambition,  Giannotto/'  he  said,  "  and  is  well 
worth  a  hundred  thousand  florins.  So  far  the  Valois 
have  never  married  out  of  Royal  Houses." 

"  Yet  they  consider  themselves  honored  by  this  match, 
my  lord,"  said  the  secretary. 

"  They  consider  themselves  well  paid,"  returned  Vis- 
conti. "  Now,  if  I  can  find  a  daughter  of  the  Plan- 
tagenets  for  brother  Tisio,  behold  us  firmly  placed 
among  the  dynasties  of  Europe ! " 

Early  in  the  fourteenth  century,  but  no  more  than  a 
meager  fifty  years  ago,  before  the  last  Visconti  cul- 
minated the  evil  of  his  race,  Matteo  Visconti,  Gian 
Galeazzo's  grandfather,  had  first  firmly  established  his 
family  as  lords  of  Milan,  supplanting  their  rival  the 
Toriani,  who  had  long  reigned  as  magistrates-in-chief, 
and  under  Martin  della  Torre  risen  to  some  eminence. 
Every  year  of  the  fifty  since  then  had  seen  some  in- 
crease of  territory,  some  fresh  acquisition  of  power,  till 
with  his  last  overthrow  of  Della  Scala,  the  seizure  of 


v  y 

THE   HOSTAGE   OF   THE   ESTES  27 

Verona,  and  the  murder  of  his  father,  already  miserably 
deposed,  Gian  Galeazzo  had  planted  himself  upon  a  level 
with  kings. 

Almost  the  whole  of  Lombardy  was  under  his  sway, 
and  that  sway  extended  from  Verceli  in  Piedmont  to 
Feltre  and  Bellvino.  Florence,  lately  leagued  against 
him  in  support  of  his  deposed  father,  had  been  beaten 
in  battle  after  battle  and  was  glad  to  escape,  shorn  of 
her  fairest  possessions,  and  cherishing  only  her  liberty. 

All  this  Giannotto  knew.  Delia  Scala,  Duke  of  Ve- 
rona, had  owned  fair  lands  and  wide,  Verona,  Brescia, 
all  now  in  Visconti's  hands.  The  secretary  wondered,  as 
he  thought,  how  long  it  would  be  before  the  triumphant 
Gian  threw  away  the  mere  rag  of  respect,  the  mere 
mockery  of  a  title  which  bound  him  to  the  Empire,  and 
became  King  of  Lombardy  in  name  as  well  as  power. 

"  And  thou  thyself,  my  lord,"  he  said.  "  Thou  wilt 
marry  a  Valois  to  thy  sister !  Who  will  be  thy  bride  ?  " 

Visconti  smiled.  "  These  marriages  are  for  ambition. 
Dost  thou  think  I  shall  marry  for  ambition?  No,  Gian- 
notto, I  have  placed  myself  above  need  of  that.  The 
alliances  that  make  the  Visconti  one  with  the  kings 
of  Europe  are  for  Valentine  and  Tisio;  I  shall 
marry " 

"  For  love,  my  lord  ?  "  ventured  the  secretary,  with  a 
hint  of  sarcasm. 

"  Whom  I  please,"  said  Visconti.  "  Which  is  not 
what  Valentine  is  doing,"  he  added  with  a  smile. 

"  She  may  give  trouble  yet,  my  lord." 

Visconti  frowned.  He  thought  of  Conrad  von  Schu- 
lembourg,  the  brilliant  young  German  noble,  who  had 
been  a  favorite  with  him  and  all  his  court,  and  had  won 
the  heart  of  Valentine  Visconti;  no  favorite  of  his  now. 
"  As  for  my  lady  sister,"  he  said,  "  let  her  dare  turn 
her  eyes  save  where  I  bid  her." 


28  THE   VIPER   OF   MILAN 

His  own  grew  ominous,  and  Giannotto  shuffled  un- 
easily. 

A  noise  without  broke  the  sudden  silence  of  reflection. 
Visconti,  responding  at  once  to  what  it  meant,  glanced 
a  moment  from  the  window  where  he  still  stood,  then 
swept  down  to  the  head  of  the  table.  He  leaned  across 
to  Giannotto,  not  that  he  valued  any  response  that  he 
could  offer — Visconti's  secretary  was  no  more  to  him 
than  the  chair  on  which  he  sat,  valued  solely  for  his 
skill  in  letters — but  his  triumph  had  to  have  its  vent. 
"  Hark ! "  he  cried.  "  Listen  to  it,  Giannotto !  The 
wealth  of  Verona  is  pouring  into  Milan!  The  spoils  of 
Verona,  Giannotto,  the  treasures  from  Mastino  della 
Scala's  palace ! " 

Giannotto  winced  before  Visconti's  passionate  joy. 

"  Twas  a  man  I  hated,  Giannotto — I  would  he  had 
lived  to  feel  it.  The  only  man  I  ever  hated,  because  the 
only  man  I  ever  feared,  the  only  man  who  ever  dared 
to  despise  me!  But  he  has  fallen,  he  is  dead,  his  wife 
is  in  my  power,  and  in  his  fall  he  has  placed  me  higher 
than  my  highest  hopes." 

Carried  away  by  his  transports,  he  seized  Giannotto 
by  the  arm  and  dragged  him  to  the  window. 

The  secretary  gazed  into  the  courtyard,  where  a  group 
of  soldiers  and  servants  were  busy  conveying  statues, 
gilt  and  silver  plate,  rich  tapestry,  glass,  china,  and  arms, 
from  carts  and  mules  into  the  narrow  doorways  that 
led  into  the  grim  interior  of  the  palace.  They  were 
presided  over  by  a  major-domo  in  a  black  gown,  who 
called  out  directions  in  a  shrill  voice.  To  one  side  a 
few  unhappy  men,  of  note  enough  to  have  been  spared, 
watched  in  grim  silence  the  unlading  of  the  spoils  that 
came  from  the  sacking  of  their  palaces.  The  great  gates 
stood  at  their  widest,  and  through  them  wound  a  long 
train  of  soldiers,  some  driving  before  them  groups  of 


THE   HOSTAGE   OF   THE   ESTES  29 

prisoners,  tightly  chained  together,  others  galloping  in 
laden  with  plunder  of  all  kinds,  art  treasures,  blackened 
as  if  by  fire,  banners  and  suits  of  armor. 

"  Ah,  Giannotto,  look,"  cried  Visconti,  "  Delia  Scala's 
collection,  Delia  Scala's  jewels.  How  my  treasury  will 
be  enriched!  Only  one  thing  mars  it,  that  he  should 
not  be  here  to  see !  " 

He  turned  from  the  window.  Giannotto  followed, 
cringing. 

u  Still,  thou  hast  his  wife,  my  lord,"  he  said.  Gian's 
eyes  flashed  afresh. 

"Isotta  d'Este— ah!" 

He  leaned  back  against  the  wall  in  silence.  A  certain 
winter  morning,  five  years  ago,  rose  clearly  before  him ; 
a  massive  castle,  frowning  from  the  rocks  above  Mo- 
dena,  and  on  its  steps  a  fair  girl  who  stood  there  and 
laughed  to  see  him  ride  away  back  to  Milan,  his  offer 
of  the  Visconti's  friendship  scorned  and  flung  in  his 
face  by  her  proud  family,  the  haughty  Estes.  Visconti's 
face  grew  dark  as  he  remembered  her;  almost  more 
than  Delia  Scala,  her  dead  husband,  did  he  hate 
Isotta,  Delia  Scala's  wife.  And  she  was  in  his  power. 
Greatly  would  it  have  soothed  him  to  know  her  death 
was  in  his  power  too,  but  the  lust  of  ambition  was 
greater  with  this  man  even  than  the  lust  of  pride  or 
hate. 

Isotta  d'Este  was  a  valuable  hostage  to  be  used  against 
her  family,  should  they  think  of  avenging  their  fallen 
kinsman. 

"  Where  hast  thou  finally  placed  her,  my  lord  ?  "  asked 
Giannotto,  with  his  stealthy  glance.  The  Duke  started 
from  his  reverie. 

"  In  the  West  Tower,"  he  smiled.  "  Every  day  I  go 
to  gaze  on  the  room  that  holds  her  to  make  sure  it  is 
not  a  dream ;  to  see  and  feel  with  my  eyes  and  my  own 


3o  THE   VIPER   OF   MILAN 

hands  that  her  prison  is  doubly  sure.  If  Isotta  d'Este 
should  now  escape  me — but  she  will  not !  " 

He  crossed  the  room  to  leave  it,  but  paused  at  the  door. 

"  Be  watchful,  Giannotto,  the  Princess  Valentine  may 
try  to  leave  the  palace.  I  have  spies  on  her  every  move- 
ment; still,  thine  eyes  upon  her  also  will  do  no  harm — 
to  me !  " 

He  laughed  an  instant.  A  rustle  of  the  hangings  and 
he  was  gone.  Giannotto  sat  on  silently,  looking  in  front 
of  him.  His  thoughts  were  with  Valentine  Visconti, 
Gian's  unhappy  sister,  whom  he  had  been  told  to  watch ; 
from  her  they  traveled  to  the  German  Count,  who,  five 
days  ago,  had  left  the  palace. 

"  I  wonder  if  she  loved  him/'  he  mused.  "  I  do  not 
think  she  did.  Dear  God,  she  did  not  need  to  wait  to 
love  a  man,  her  life  was  not  such  that  she  could  pick 
and  choose  her  way  of  escaping  from  it.  Conrad  offered 
one  and  she  was  ready  to  take  it — now — five  days  ago! 
Yes — Count  Conrad  is  dead,  and  she  will  marry  the 
Duke  of  Orleans!  Ah,  well!  The  German  was  a  fool, 
he  deserved  no  better  fate  than  a  fool!  I  do  not  think 
she'll  break  her  heart  if  she  can  find  some  other  way." 

He  returned  to  his  papers,  pausing  now  and  then  to 
glance  toward  the  door,  as  if  to  keep  himself  on  the 
alert  for  the  Duke's  noiseless  entry. 

But  Gian  had  bent  his  steps  elsewhere.  Plainly  dressed, 
he  passed  almost  unnoticed  across  an  inner  courtyard 
to  a  dark  angle  of  a  wall  where  a  secret  door  anew  ad- 
mitted him.  The  whole  Visconti  palace  was  a  somber 
and  gloomy  place ;  men  crept  about  it  on  tiptoe,  glancing 
fearfully  around  them,  afraid  of  their  own  shadows. 
Visconti  smiled  to  himself  at  sight  of  fear;  he  loved 
to  be  feared,  to  hold  lives  in  the  hollow  of  his  hand, 
and  play  with  them  and  death. 

The  door  let  him  into  a  long  narrow  passage  flagged 


THE   HOSTAGE   OF   THE   ESTES  31 

with  stone,  and  lit  by  diamond-shaped  holes  left  in  the 
walls ;  the  air  was  damp  and  chill,  and  Visconti  drew 
his  cloak  around  him.  Unlocking  a  second  door,  he 
ascended  a  flight  of  stone  steps,  pitch  dark,  from  which 
he  emerged  into  a  large  circular  chamber  with  a  thick 
pillar  in  the  middle  from  which  the  groined  ceiling 
sprang.  Save  table  and  high-backed  chair  of  blackened 
wood,  there  was  no  furniture.  This  chamber  was  the 
outer  guard-room  of  the  prison-wing,  and  a  gloomy- 
faced  man  leaned  against  the  pillar,  his  eyes  fixed  upon 
the  opening  door.  It  could  be  no  other  than  the  Vis- 
conti entering  thus,  and  he  crouched  almost  to  the 
ground. 

"  What  is  thy  guard  ?  "  said  Visconti. 

"  Twenty  men  in  each  guard-room  my  lord,  and  each 
one  picked  for  size  and  trustworthiness,  and  I  myself 
keep  watch  upon  the  door.  Escape  is  impossible/' 

"  By  so  much  the  more  that  thy  head  will  answer 
for  it." 

As  he  spoke,  Visconti  flung  wide  one  of  a  ring  of 
doors  opening  from  the  chamber,  and  stepped  into  a 
posse  of  soldiers.  No  one  spoke.  Glancing  keenly  to  the 
right  and  left,  Visconti  passed  through  their  ranks  into 
the  room  beyond, — a  small  apartment,  dim  lit  and  hung 
with  arras.  An  old  woman  sat  at  a  tapestry  frame  with 
her  back  to  the  door,  but  at  Visconti's  entrance  she  rose, 
as  at  something  expected,  and  sank  in  a  deep  obeisance. 

Gian  Maria  closed  the  door  behind  him. 

"  How  is  she  ? "  he  said.  "  How  does  she  bear  her 
change  of  prison?" 

The  old  woman  glanced  toward  an  inner  door,  mas- 
sive and  iron-clamped. 

"When  I  am  with  her,  my  lord,  she  sits  in  silence, 
her  eyes  forever  on  her  missal ;  indeed  she  has  not 
spoken  since  we  brought  her  here ;  but  when  she  is  alone, 


32  THE   VIPER   OF    MILAN 

she  weeps.  I  have  heard  her  through  the  door;  she 
weeps  passionately,  and  calls  wildly  upon  her  husband 
to  save  her." 

"  I  would  I  had  him,  to  stand  him  gagged  against  the 
door  to  hear  her,"  said  the  Duke. 

"  By  the  look  of  her  she  will  die  of  it,"  continued  the 
old  woman.  "  But  if  I  know  anything  of  prisoners, 
and  I  have  seen  a  few,  thou  wilt  never  break  her  spirit, 
my  lord." 

"  She  must  be  more  humbled  now,"  he  said  to  him- 
self. "  She  must  turn  and  implore  me  for  pity." 

The  huge  door  creaked  and  swung  on  its  hinges,  and 
he  stood  at  the  top  of  two  low  stone  steps,  looking  down 
into  Isotta's  prison.  It  was  little  better  than  a  dungeon 
of  stone,  lofty  but  dark,  with  one  window  deep  set, 
high  out  of  reach,  and  thickly  barred.  The  walls  were 
hung  with  faded  tapestry,  the  gloomy,  sad-looking  folds 
drooping  like  torn,  captured  standards.  A  huge  chest 
of  somber  blackness  leaned  against  the  wall ;  above  it 
hung  a  horn  lantern,  which  after  dark  gave  all  the  light 
that  was  obtained.  For  the  rest,  a  few  high-backed 
chairs  stood  stiffly  about  the  room.  In  his  black  dress 
Visconti,  pausing  at  the  head  of  the  steps,  seemed  part 
of  its  gloom.  His  wide-open  gray  eyes  looked  straight 
across  at  the  solitary  occupant. 

Isotta  sat  in  one  of  the  huge  black  chairs,  her  deli- 
cate hands  resting  on  the  faded  crimson  velvet  of  the 
arms,  her  feet  on  a  wooden  footstool.  She  was  of  a 
fair  and  noble  appearance,  but  her  face  was  marred  by 
sorrow  and  her  eyes  red  from  many  tears.  Her  pale 
yellow  hair  was  drawn  away  under  a  white  veil.  Her 
long  gray  dress  clung  close  about  her  slender  figure. 
On  her  knee  rested  a  little  book,  and  on  this  she  kept 
her  eyes.  Not  by  so  much  as  a  flutter  of  her  hand  did 
she  show  she  knew  of  the  Visconti's  presence. 


THE   HOSTAGE   OF   THE   ESTES  33 

He  waited,  raging  inwardly,  but  words  would  not 
come  easily  to  break  that  silence.  At  last  he  slowly 
descended  into  the  room,  his  eyes  still  on  her  face. 

She  never  stirred,  nor  raised  her  own.  With  his  noise- 
less tread,  Visconti  paced  around  the  chamber,  raising 
the  arras,  and  testing  with  his  dagger  every  block  of 
stone.  It  was  a  superfluous  precaution;  any  attempt  to 
escape  would  have  been  simple  madness,  and  Isotta 
d'Este  was  not  likely  to  give  way  to  frenzy.  Still  it  was 
joy  to  be  sure  and  doubly  sure  that  she  was  safe.  Every 
inch  was  inspected,  every  crevice  searched.  Meanwhile 
from  time  to  time  he  observed  her  keenly.  But  she 
seemed  not  to  know  her  solitude  was  broken,  save  that 
once,  when  he  passed  her,  she  swept  in  the  train  of 
her  gown,  as  she  might  have  done  had  a  leper  come 
too  near.  A  simple  thing,  but  it  goaded  him,  and  for 
a  moment  she  was  near  her  death;  rage  almost  over- 
coming prudence.  But  as  he  stood  behind  her  chair, 
half -inclined  to  strike,  he  noticed  on  her  hand  a  ring. 
His  expression  changed ;  he  smiled ;  his  hand  dropped 
down.  The  ring  was  of  pearl,  cut  with  the  arms  of 
Delia  Scala,  and  worn  on  the  third  finger  of  her  left 
hand  ;  her  wedding  ring. 

Visconti  smiled  again.  Stooping,  he  raised  her  hand, 
and — "  Will  she  bear  this  in  silence  ?  "  was  his  thought. 
For  a  moment  it  seemed  as  if  she  might  not.  The  deli- 
cate fingers  stiffened  and  half-closed,  then,  as  if  re- 
membering anew,  she  left  her  hand  passive  in  Visconti's 
hold,  and  only  by  a  faint  quiver  told  she  knew  the  ring 
had  been  withdrawn.  The  despoiled  hand  fell  back 
again  on  to  the  velvet  arm,  her  eyes  were  fixed  im- 
movably upon  her  book,  and  Visconti,  turning  away 
to  the  door,  silent  as  he  came,  looked  back  at  her 
incredulous  of  such  control.  She  was  sitting  straight 
and  slender,  her  delicate  head  poised  high,  but — ah  yes, 


34  THE   VIPER   OF   MILAN 

he  thought  it  must  be  so! — he  noted  with  delight  that 
her  breast  heaved  and  the  firm  line  of  her  mouth 
trembled  ever  so  slightly.  For  a  second  he  stood  thus, 
a  ray  of  the  pale  prison  light  caught  by  the  ring  he 
held,  then  the  door  clattered  and  shook  back  into  its 
bolts,  and  he  was  gone. 


CHAPTER   FOUR 


VALENTINE 


SWIFTLY  as  he  had  come,  Visconti  returned  to  the 
palace,  and  the  banqueting  hall  beyond.  He  stepped 
in  silently,  and  softly  let  the  curtains  fall  behind  him. 

The  room  was  of  enormous  size,  and  overawed  the 
gaze.  The  four  large  entries,  one  in  each  wall,  were 
curtained  alike  with  gloomy  purple.  The  ceiling  was 
domed  and  of  immense  height,  showing  a  dim  tracery 
of  carved  wood,  from  which  hung  golden  chains,  sus- 
pending jeweled  lamps.  The  high  and  narrow  windows 
were  wrought  with  painted  saints,  splendid  in  coloring. 
From  domed  ceiling  to  paneled  floor  the  walls  were 
carved  with  men,  women,  saints,  martyrs,  flowers  and 
birds  wrought  together,  in  simple-minded  joyousness 
of  design,  executed  with  the  delicate  workmanship  of 
Niccolo  Pisano's  school.  Silk  arras,  hung  from  carved 
gold  rods,  here  and  there  concealed  the  carving.  A 
carpet,  the  work  of  two  men's  lives,  delicate  in  purple, 
brown,  and  gold,  spread  across  the  center,  where  a 
long  low  table  of  walnut  wood,  rich  and  dark,  could 
seat  two  hundred  guests.  Purple  velvet  chairs  were  set 
about  in  the  corners,  and  the  light  streaming  through 
the  colored  window  saints  fell  in  gold  and  green  across 
an  ivory  footstool,  inlaid  with  jewels. 

As  Visconti  entered,  the  hall  was  empty,  yet  he 
stepped  stealthily,  as  if  he  felt  eyes  watching  him.  Seat- 
ing himself  in  the  window  recess,  he  waited,  and  pres- 
ently, as  if  at  an  unuttered  summons,  the  curtains  at 

35 


36  THE   VIPER   OF   MILAN 

the  far  end  of  the  room  were  rustled  apart,  and  a  lady 
entered.  She  was  Valentine  Visconti,  Gian's  sister.  Her 
dress  was  of  red  and  brown,  embroidered  with  gold, 
her  tawny  hair  piled  high  under  a  golden  net  upon  her 
well-set  head.  She  had  the  clear,  colorless  skin  and  the 
wide  red  lips  of  the  fair-haired  Italians,  their  rich 
presence;  she  was  of  a  fine  carriage,  not  easy  to  over- 
look; she  might  have  been  ten  years  younger  than  her 
brother ;  she  was  as  tall  and  as  stately. 

She  looked  straight  toward  the  window  where  Vis- 
conti sat.  Gian  returned  her  gaze,  not  changing  his 
position.  Valentine  drew  nearer. 

"  Why  hast  thou  set  spies  upon  me  ?  "  she  demanded. 

"  Why  didst  thou  try  to  fly  Milan  with  Count 
Conrad  ? "  he  returned.  "  I  was  foolish  not  to  spy  on 
thee  before." 

Her  gray  eyes  glinted. 

"  I  tried  to  escape  from  a  life  that  was  grown  intoler- 
able," she  cried,  "  and  I  will  try  yet  again !  " 

Visconti  smiled. 

"  My  sister,  thou  art  much  too  precious ;  I  shall  not 
let  thee  go.  Thou  art  worth  a  great  deal  to  me.  Through 
thee  our  family  will  be  united  to  the  Royal  House  of 
France.  My  sister,  thy  husband  will  be  the  Duke  of 
Orleans,  and  not  a  German  fool." 

But  Valentine  was  also  a  Visconti :  she  advanced  with 
blazing  eyes. 

"  I  will  not  marry  to  serve  thy  ambitions ;  I  will  not 
help  to  steady  thee  upon  the  throne.  Mark  me,  Gian, 
sooner  than  wed  a  Prince  whom  thou  hast  chosen,  I  will 
drag  thy  name  into  the  mire,  and  sit  in  rags  at  thy 
palace  gates." 

"  Only  thou  hast  not  the  choice,"  he  answered 
pleasantly. 

Her  anger  rose  the  more  as  she  felt  her  helplessness. 


VALENTINE  37 

"  I  will  not  marry  the  Duke !  "  she  cried,  "  I  will  not 
walk  up  to  the  altar." 

"  Thou  canst  be  carried,"  said  Visconti. 

She  moved  up  and  down,  twisting  her  hands  in  an 
agony  of  impotence. 

"  I  will  appeal  to  the  Duke  of  Orleans  himself!  "  she 
cried. 

"  A  bridegroom  who  is  bought  for  a  hundred  thousand 
florins !  "  sneered  her  brother.  "  And  how  will  thy  ap- 
peal reach  him?  Come,  my  sister,  be  calm;  the  Duke 
will  make  as  good  a  husband  as  Count  Conrad.  Bethink 
thyself,  thou  mayst  live  to  be  crowned  Queen  of  France. 
Wilt  thou  not  thank  me  then,  that  I  saved  thee  from  a 
German  Count  ?  " 

Valentine  fell  to  weeping. 

"  What  has  become  of  him  ?  "  she  sobbed,  "  the  only 
human  being  who  ever  turned  to  me  in  pity.  The  only 
one  who  ever  cared  for  me.  What  has  become  of  him  ?  " 

"  What  becomes  of  a  fool  when  he  crosses  the  path 
of  a  Visconti  ?  "  asked  her  brother  calmly. 

Valentine  lifted  her  head. 

"  He  is  dead,  then  ?  "  she  said. 

"  It  matters  not  to  thee.  Thy  husband  will  be  the 
Duke  of  Orleans,  and  thou  art  a  prisoner  in  the  palace 
till  he  takes  thee  from  it." 

She  caught  at  the  arras ;  Visconti  left  her,  and  reached 
the  door,  his  figure  a  shadow  among  the  shadows. 

The  girl  rushed  forward  with  a  cry.  "  Gian !  "  she 
called. 

He  paused,  his  hand  upon  the  curtain,  and  looked 
back  at  her. 

"  Gian !  "  she  repeated,  and  stood  still  gasping,  her 
hand  upon  her  breast.  The  stiff  folds  of  her  dress 
gleamed  richly  in  the  subdued  light  that  fell  upon  her 
from  the  painted  window.  "  I  know  thee  for  what  thou 


38  THE   VIPER   OF   MILAN 

art,"  she  said ;  "  there  are  only  two  of  us  left,  only  two. 
Where  are  our  parents,  Gian?" 

"  They  were  stricken  down  at  Brescia/'  and  Visconti 
took  a  quick  step  toward  her. 

"  They  are  dead,"  she  breathed,  "  and  they  died  as  our 
brothers  died,  Filipo  and  Matteo " 

"  Did  they  so !  Then  take  warning  by  it,"  and  Gian, 
coming  stealthily  still  nearer,  turned  a  look  on  her. 
Valentine  quailed,  as  Francisco  well-nigh  had  done; 
the  hot  words  of  remorse  and  rebellion  died  away  unut- 
tered,  and  she  hid  her  face,  her  high  spirit  cowed  again 
into  a  bitter  weeping. 

Visconti  left  her  noiselessly. 


CHAPTER   FIVE 

THE    PAINTER'S   DAUGHTER 

THREE  days  had  passed  since  that  futile  midnight 
encounter,  and  Francisco  had  found  no  means  to  enter 
Milan. 

He  stood  on  the  banks  of  the  water  looking  moodily 
toward  the  city,  watching  the  figure  of  Vittore,  who 
trudged  along  the  meadows, — his  errand  to  procure 
provisions. 

The  three  still  sheltered  in  the  ruins,  to  which  no 
owner  had  returned,  nor  had  any  signs  of  life  or  occu- 
pancy broken  the  silence  within  the  villa's  all-encircling 
walls.  Now,  as  he  watched  Vittore  out  of  sight — the 
boy  looking  back  often  to  renew  his  courage — Fran- 
cisco's brow  was  furrowed,  and  his  eyes  heavy  with 
sleeplessness.  The  stream,  clear,  deep  and  sparkling, 
here  ran  darkened  with  the  shadow  of  the  willows  that 
bent  over  it  their  long  bluish  leaves.  A  path,  thickly 
bordered  with  reeds,  ran  beside  the  water  to  the  head 
of  the  small  lake  into  which  the  stream  flowed,  whence 
it  continued,  a  scarcely  discernible  footway,  toward  the 
city. 

Behind  Francisco,  separated  from  him  only  by  the 
fosse,  was  the  wall  of  the  villa,  and,  Vittore  being  lost 
to  view,  Francisco  withdrew  his  gaze,  always  roaming 
restlessly  in  quest  of  something  that  should  aid  him, 
and  glanced  along  it  curiously.  His  eyes  rested  on  a 
great  tuft  of  yellow  lichen,  brilliant  with  scarlet  spikes ; 
it  was  so  huge  and  spreading  he  could  not  but  stare 

39 


4o  THE   VIPER   OF   MILAN 

at  it.  From  the  lichen  his  gaze  traveled  slowly  upward, 
but  not  a  foothold  could  he  see.  Spreading  above  the 
wall  the  topmost  boughs  of  a  gigantic  view  showed  a 
clear-cut  black  against  the  sky,  and  on  the  broad,  fan- 
like surface  brooded  a  pair  of  doves,  pink,  gray  and 
white.  The  beauty  of  the  scene,  its  calmness  and  repose, 
exasperated  the  man's  inaction.  He  stamped  on  the 
little  flowers  at  his  feet,  then,  with  a  bitter  curse  at 
his  folly,  threw  himself  upon  the  grass  to  watch  for 
Vittore's  return,  and  ponder,  forever  ponder,  on  his 
purpose.  Suddenly  there  shot  into  sight  upon  the  stream 
a  little  boat,  with  high  curling  prow  and  gaily  painted 
sides.  A  blue  sail  was  furled  above  it,  and  it  was  im- 
pelled lightly  forward  by  a  delicate  pair  of  oars.  The 
grounds  of  the  villa  formed  a  promontory,  and  coming 
around  the  brow  of  it  the  boat  broke  upon  his  gaze 
and  was  within  hail  at  one  and  the  same  moment.  It 
came  rapidly  nearer,  and  the  stranger's  first  impulse 
was  to  hide  himself  from  these  unexpected  and  un- 
welcome intruders;  but  there  was  no  time;  as  he  rose 
he  was  observed,  but  the  genial  hand-wave  and  the 
merry  laughter  reassured  him.  These  were  simple 
pleasure-seekers.  He  reseated  himself,  and  the  boat 
came  on. 

The  rower  was  a  dark-haired  man  of  middle  age, 
clothed  in  a  plain  brown  robe.  Lean  and  vivacious, 
eager-eyed,  he  appeared  one  of  those  people  who  are 
always  talking  and  moving;  even  seated  and  rowing 
he  gave  the  impression  of  restlessness;  of  the  good 
humor  common  to  the  people  too.  His  companion  was 
a  young  girl  dressed  in  a  simple  blue  gown.  She  was  a 
delicate  blonde,  very  young,  very  slender ;  the  curls  of 
her  amber  hair  were  blown  across  a  round  dimpled 
face;  eyes  of  a  dancing  blue;  a  sweet  small  mouth 
curled  in  laughter,  a  fine  chin  and  throat,  a  slack  young 


THE    PAINTER'S   DAUGHTER  41 

figure.  This  was  her  principal  characteristic,  the  floating 
yellow  hair  like  a  veil  about  her. 

Coming  abreast  of  Francisco,  the  man  paused  on  his 
oars  with  a  friendly  greeting. 

"  Good  day,  messer,"  he  called.  "  So  thou  hast  found 
our  secret  haunt.  Graziosa  and  I  had  thought  this  place 
our  own,"  and  as  he  spoke  he  waved  his  hand  around 
him  at  the  water. 

The  boat  rocked  now  alongside  the  path,  and  Fran- 
cisco courteously  approached. 

"  I  am  a  stranger  here,"  he  said. 

The  other  glanced  at  him  anew,  and  with  the  awak- 
ening of  a  little  friendly  wonder. 

u  A  stranger  ?  Ah,  then,  this  is  new  to  thee — 'this 
most  beautiful  part  of  Italy.  I  assure  thee,"  he  con- 
tinued excitedly,  "  I  have  been  through  the  fairest  parts 
of  Tuscany,  I  have  wandered  about  Naples,  but  never 
have  I  seen  such  colors,  such  lights  as  here !  "  Again 
he  waved  his  all-inclusive  hand.  "  Thou,  messer,  as  a 
stranger,  must  see  how  wonderfully  fair  it  is  ? " 

He  paddled  the  boat  nearer  among  the  reeds  in  his 
eagerness  to  obtain  new  sympathy. 

u  I  have  not  been  used  to  judge  lands  by  their  beauty," 
returned  Francisco.  "  Yet  methinks  I  have  seen  spots 
as  beautiful  and  easier  to  hold  in  time  of  need." 

The  other  twisted  his  mouth  in  contempt.  The  girl 
leaned  forward,  laughing.  "  You  forget,  father,"  she 
said,  "  everyone  is  not  a  painter." 

But  the  little  man,  as  if  he  had  found  a  sudden  mission, 
secured  the  boat,  and,  still  in  silence,  stepped  ashore, 
helping  his  daughter  to  follow  him.  Francisco,  pre- 
occupied and  mistrustful,  saw  this  with  uneasiness,  and 
would  gladly  have  withdrawn.  Moreover,  the  smiling 
face  of  the  happy  girl  was  an  added  sting  to  a  burning 
thought. 


42  THE   VIPER   OF   MILAN 

The  enthusiast,  however,  had  no  idea  of  giving  up  a 
possible  convert,  and  swept  aside  the  other's  protesta- 
tions while  he  commenced  pointing  out  the  beauties  of 
the  yellow  lichen  against  the  villa  wall,  the  sight  of 
which  had  restored  all  his  good  humor. 

"  See ! "  he  exclaimed.  "  How  bright  it  is !  See  the 
contrast  of  the  yew — so  brilliant,  yet  so  in  harmony, 
so — you  do  not  paint  ?  " 

"  No,"  said  Francisco  between  grimness  and  scorn. 
"Do  I  look  as  if  I  did?" 

The  artist  glanced  anew  at  his  huge  frame  and  tat- 
tered attire,  and  mentally  decided  he  did  not. 

"  Ah,  then  thou  dost  not  understand,"  he  said ;  "  but 
I,  I  am  a  painter.  Agnolo  Vistarnini  is  my  name, 
messer,  a  student  of  Taddeo  Gaddi."  He  swept  off  his 
leather  cap  with  an  air  of  profound  respect. 

"Ah,  he  could  paint!  I  am  far  behind  him,  messer, 
but  I  can  see!  I  can  see!  Which  thou  canst  not,"  he 
added  with  superb  pity. 

"  Graziosa,"  he  called,  turning  to  his  daughter,  "  we 
will  stay  here  awhile." 

And  seating  himself  on  the  bank,  he  produced  from 
his  wallet  a  panel  of  wood,  polished  and  carefully 
planed,  upon  which  he  began  to  draw  the  outline  of  a 
corner  of  the  scene,  using  a  dark  brown  pigment. 

Francisco  fell  again  to  brooding  while  the  painter 
chattered  on,  dividing  his  attention  between  the  panel 
and  his  daughter,  who  was  wandering  up  the  stream, 
filling  with  flowers  a  flat  basket. 

"  Thou  see'st  yonder  my  daughter,  messer,"  he  said, 
pointing  to  the  slender  figure  in  blue.  He  blew  a  kiss 
in  her  direction.  "  She  is  the  model  for  my  angels " 

"  And  the  model  for  thy  devils  ? "  asked  Francisco 
suddenly. 

Vistarnini  started  and  looked  around  at  the  speaker. 


THE    PAINTER'S   DAUGHTER  43 

"Devils!  Messer!"  He  crossed  himself.  "God  for- 
bid there  should  be  a  model  for  such  found  anywhere," 
he  said. 

"  Yet  methinks  thou  hast  in  thy  city  yonder,"  said 
Francisco  with  a  bitter  smile,  "  one  who  well  might  sit 
for  the  fiend  himself:  Visconti." 

"  The  Duke  ?  Ah,  my  friend,  hush,  hush,  thou  art  a 
stranger,  take  care !  Even  in  this  lonely  spot  such  words 
are  far  from  safe.  Who  art  thou,  messer,  who  dost  not 
live  in  Milan  and  yet  speak  with  such  a  look  of  the 
Visconti  ?  " 

"  Do  not  all  who  know  the  Visconti  speak  with  such 
a  look  of  him  ?  " 

The  painter  gazed  at  him  in  silence. 

"  But  thou  askest  for  my  name,"  continued  the  other. 
"  I  am  Francisco  di  Coldra,  one  who  has  suffered  much 
from  the  Visconti." 

"  In  the  sack  of  Verona,  perhaps  ? "  asked  Agnolo 
after  a  pause. 

"  The  sack  of  Verona  was  three  months  ago.  The 
prisoners  have  been  in  Milan  twenty  days ! " 

These  words  were  inscrutable,  and  the  little  painter 
did  not  even  try  to  understand  them;  but  they  kindled 
a  memory  that  would  not  be  repressed. 

"  Ah,  and  what  a  night  that  was,"  he  cried,  "  when 
the  Duke  re-entered  Milan  with  them!  Since  I  do  not 
hurt  thee  by  the  recollection,  messer,  let  me  tell  thee, 
it  was  a  splendid  sight,  that  night  the  Duke  returned. 
I  live  a  quiet  life,  as  an  artist  may  do,  even  in  Milan. 
I  know  little,  I  care  little  for  the  wars  of  princes.  They 
tell  me  the  Visconti's  crimes  outnumber  the  stars;  but, 
messer,  his  shadow  has  not  fallen  across  my  house, 
and  what  one  does  not  see  one  does  not  fear — but  when 
he  returned  from  Verona!  that  was  a  sight,  messer. 
It  was  late.  Our  house  overlooks  the  western  gates,  and 


44  THE   VIPER   OF   MILAN 

all  day  long  the  messengers  had  come  and  sped,  bring- 
ing the  news  the  Duke  was  here.  Toward  evening — 
we  leaning  from  the  window  as  did  everyone — Alberic 
da  Salluzzo  comes  galloping  to  the  walls — red-hot  upon 
some  report  that  the  Visconti  has  been  slain — to  look 
to  the  arming  of  the  citizens.  Even  as  we  strain  from 
the  window,  following  the  flash  of  his  plumes — back 
he  comes  in  madder  haste — the  Visconti  is  alive!  The 
people  shout  and  yell,  and  some  cry  'tis  not  the  Vis- 
conti's  army  on  the  road,  but  Delia  Scala's.  Meanwhile 
a  mob,  with  Napoleone  della  Torre  at  their  head,  begins 
to  agitate,  to  threaten  riot.  With  a  strong  hand  Alberic 
puts  them  down — the  streets  are  cleared,  Graziosa  and 
I  on  the  balcony,  all  is  dark,  silent,  save  now  and  then 
the  clink  of  the  armor  of  the  sentries  on  the  walls.  I 
am  too  excited  for  sleep,  messer,  all  so  hushed,  so 
subdued,  waiting,  waiting.  All  at  once  it  comes.  Oh, 
the  rattle,  the  roar!  The  great  gates  clatter  back,  the 
streets  fill  with  crowds  no  man  can  keep  back.  The  vic- 
torious army  pelts  through  them ;  two  men  on  every 
horse,  great  flaring  torches  throwing  their  yellow  light 
on  the  torn  banners  and  the  wild  faces  of  the  soldiers, 
and  then  the  cannon,  leaping  over  the  rough  stones, 
drawn  by  the  smoke-blackened  gunners,  all  tearing, 
rushing  through  the  street,  a  mass  of  light  and  shade, 
wonderful,  wonderful!  In  the  midst,  the  Visconti,  the 
ragged  light  streaming  over  his  tattered  armor,  and 
Isotta  d'Este,  guarded  between  two  soldiers,  swaying 
on  her  black  horse,  and  above  all  the  shouts  of  the 
frenzied  triumph  of  the  Milanese.  .  .  .  Ah ! " 

Agnolo  paused  now  for  want  of  breath,  and  glanced 
at  his  companion. 

But  Francisco  offered  no  response.  His  face  was 
turned  away,  and  his  hands  were  clenched.  The  little 
painter  had  a  vague  sense  of  having  allowed  a  mere 


THE    PAINTER'S   DAUGHTER  45 

artist's  enthusiasm  to  carry  him  too  far  into  a  dangerous 
theme. 

"  Ah,  well,"  he  continued  in  a  deprecating  tone,  "  a 
splendid  sight  truly,  and  one  to  fire  the  blood,  but  I 
am  a  man  of  peace,  and  I  greatly  grieve  Delia  Scala 
should  have  perished.  He  was  a  noble  prince." 

The  stranger  rose  abruptly. 

"  Do  not  speak  of  Delia  Scala,"  he  said  harshly.  "  I 
love  to  hear  his  name  as  little  as  Visconti's.  His  was 
the  crime  of  failure." 

"Failure!  Who  would  not  have  failed?"  said  Ag- 
nolo  gently,  for  he  thought  he  spoke  to  one  who  must 
have  lost  his  all  in  the  sacked  town.  "  I  know  little 
of  such  things,  but  'twas  here  and  there  asserted  he 
fell  by  craft  as  well  as  force,  and  he  was  a  great 
soldier  and  an  honorable  man,  Messer  Francisco." 

"  He  had  all  the  virtues,  doubtless,"  said  Francisco, 
14  and  lost  Verona." 

"And  his  life!"  replied  the  painter.  "Ah,  well,  these 
things  are  grievous!  The  saints  protect  my  daughter 
from  all  share  in  them,"  and  he  glanced  affectionately 
toward  Graziosa,  returning  through  the  gray-green  wil- 
lows with  lilies  in  her  hands. 

"  For  my  pictures,"  said  the  painter,  pointing  to  them. 
"  I  am  painting  an  altar-piece — for  the  lunettes.  I  shall 
have  Graziosa  as  St.  Katherine,  and  Ambrogio  (her  be- 
trothed, messer)  as  St.  Michael.  These  flowers  will 
make  the  border." 

He  took  some  as  he  spoke,  and  began  arranging  them 
in  wreaths. 

Francisco  would  scarcely  have  heeded  the  speaker's 
words,  save  that  his  glance  was  caught  almost  involun- 
tarily by  the  girl's  sweet  blush  at  mention  of  her  lover's 
name. 

"  Thy  betrothed,"  he  murmured,  interested  a  moment 


46  THE   VIPER   OF   MILAN 

in  the  happiness  that  was  such  a  contrast  to  his  own 
feeling.  "  And  does  he  paint  too  ?  " 

Graziosa  looked  up  with  sparkling  eyes. 

"  Beautifully,"  she  said  eagerly.  "  He  is  at  work 
now  in  the  Church  of  San'  Apollinare  in  Brescia.  We 
have  not  seen  his  painting,  the  journey  is  too  long ;  but 
some  of  the  panel  bits  he  has  shown  us,  and  they  are 
noble." 

Francisco  smiled  faintly  at  her  outspokenness,  and  her 
father  laughed  good-humoredly. 

"  Thou  must  not  listen  to  her,"  he  said.  "  She  over- 
rates his  painting.  He  paints  well,  truly,  but  cold!  ah, 
so  cold;  no  spirit  in  it!  He  will  sit  for  hours  thinking 
how  the  fold  of  a  robe  should  fall.  I,  however,  have 
seen  Taddeo  Gaddi  paint!  The  angels  would  seem  to 
flow  from  his  brush  as  if  he  gave  no  thought  to  them !  " 
But  Graziosa  turned  a  smiling  face  from  the  boat  she 
was  unmooring. 

"  His  altar-piece  will  draw  all  Lombardy,"  she  cried. 

"  Say  rather  that  his  altar-piece  draws  him  away  from 
thee,"  laughed  the  painter,  "  and  thou  wilt  be  nearer 
to  the  truth.  The  altar-piece  has  all  his  time;  thou  but 
a  few  meager  hours  a  week !  Still,  they  love  each  other, 
messer,  and  are  happy,  so  we  never  care  whether  Am- 
brogio  paint  well  or  ill."  Graziosa  seated  herself  under 
the  blue  sail,  and  looked  up  with  radiant  eyes. 

"  I  am  very  happy,"  she  laughed  softly,  "  so  never 
mind  whether  he  paint  the  best  or  the  second  best  in 
Italy." 

The  painter  grasped  the  oars  and  pushed  out  into  the 
stream :  "  Good-bye,"  he  called,  and  Graziosa  waved  a 
hand ;  then  something  in  the  stranger's  aspect  made  the 
little  painter  pause  again. 

"  Gladly  would  we  offer  our  poor  hospitality,  mes- 
ser,"  he   said,   "  only   the  gates   are   sternly  barred   to 


THE    PAINTER'S   DAUGHTER  47 

any  stranger  .  .  ."  But  Graziosa,  glancing  also  at  the 
strong,  commanding  figure,  and  the  stern  set  face, 
checked  her  father's  impulse. 

"  We  are  too  humble,  father,"  she  said  gently,  "  but 
if  there  were  any  service  we  could  render,  any  mes- 
sage—  ?  We  live  at  the  sign  of  Lo  Scudot  the  armorer's, 
near  to  the  western  gate." 

"  I  will  remember  it,"  said  Francisco  simply. 

Graziosa  drew  her  blue  cloth  hood  about  her  smiling 
face,  and,  with  gentle  strokes  from  the  painter's  paddle, 
the  boat  disappeared. 

When  Francisco  found  himself  alone  again,  momen- 
tary misgiving  seized  him  that  he  had  lost  an  oppor- 
tunity. 

Could  these  folk  have  been  of  service?  They  were 
of  a  sort  unknown  to  him ;  courtiers,  soldiers,  burghers, 
merchants,  with  all  such  he  was  at  home,  but  these 
plebeians  of  kindly  natures  and  good  speech,  of  humble 
rank  and  careless  happiness,  were  new  to  him.  The 
painter's  talk  of  his  craft  had  had  no  meaning  for 
Francisco,  it  had  passed  from  his  mind  for  craziness ; 
but  the  girl  had  said  they  dwelt  near  the  western  gate 
— could  they  perchance  have  been  of  service?  But  pres- 
ently he  dismissed  the  notion;  they  were  too  simple  for 
his  purpose. 

Raging  in  the  pain  of  rekindled  memory  and  present 
helplessness,  Francisco  paced  to  and  fro,  waiting  for 
Vittore's  figure  in  the  distance. 

Suddenly  his  eyes  rested  again  on  the  great  clump  of 
yellow  lichen,  and  he  stopped,  arrested. 

In  the  midst  of  it  he  had  seen  something  that  in- 
terested him,  something  very  much  its  color,  but  not 
quite  its  kind. 

He  approached,  and  thrusting  his  hand  in  among  the 
great  tufts,  touched  the  rusty   iron  of  a  disused  bolt. 


48  THE   VIPER   OF   MILAN 

There  was  a  door  here,  then,  that  led  into  the  grounds 
of  the  deserted  villa! 

Francisco's  heart  beat  strongly. 

From  the  finding  of  the  silver  goblet  in  the  ruined 
hut,  he  had  associated  with  the  Visconti's  name  the 
darkened  dwelling  and  its  silent  grounds.  There  was 
none  to  question,  for  there  was  none  of  whom  they  dared 
inquire;  but  more  than  once  Francisco  had  thought  of 
trying  to  enforce  an  entrance,  only  to  find,  however,  that 
by  whomsoever  abandoned,  ingress  to  the  villa  had  been 
left  well  nigh  impossible.  But  here  was  an  entrance  that 
had  been  overlooked,  and  it  was  not  to  be  wondered  at, 
for  the  rusty  bolt  could  have  been  discerned  only  by 
eyes  as  keen  as  his^  and  the  door  belonging  was  com- 
pletely hidden  by  close-growing  ivy,  too  frail  to  climb 
by,  but  the  most  effectual  of  all  concealments.  Tearing 
up  the  lichen  from  its  roots,  Francisco  set  to  work  upon 
the  ivy.  The  delicate,  ropelike  strands  clung  with  their 
black  filaments  like  fingers  bewitched,  and  little  had  been 
accomplished  when  Francisco,  taking  cautious  survey 
around  him,  saw  Vittore  returning  across  the  meadows. 
Concealing  what  he  was  about,  Francisco  waited  till  the 
lad  came  up,  flushed  and  triumphant  from  a  successful 
errand. 

"  What  news  going  in  the  city  ?  "  asked  Francisco. 

"  All  is  quiet.  One  of  the  soldiers  snatched  a  leek  from 
me,  another  bade  me  tell  my  sister  he  was  still  unwed. 
They  jested  finely,  but  I  should  not  like  them  to  have 
turned  to  questioning  me.  They  were  so  many,  and  so 
finely  armed.,, 

"  And  the  money  ?  Didst  thou  need  to  change  the 
pieces  that  I  gave  thee  ? " 

"  Yes,  messer,  I  had  not  enough !  They  said  that  it 
was  Veronese." 

"  Nothing  new  to  them  in  Milan  now — the  money  of 


THE   PAINTER'S   DAUGHTER  49 

the  Veronese,"  said  Francisco,  with  a  flashing  glance 
toward  the  ramparts. 

"  They  told  me  'twas  no  longer  taken ;  that  the  Duke 
was  having  it  recast.  But  a  bystander  reached  forward, 
and  gave  me  a  piece  of  Milanese.  He  said  that  he  would 
keep  my  piece ;  it  bore  the  Delia  Scala  arms,  he  said,  and 
was  a  curiosity." 

Francisco  muttered  something  that  the  lad  did  not 
catch. 

"  Well,  thou  hast  faced  the  soldiers  and  the  market 
now,"  he  said  aloud,  "  and  art  safe  for  other  journeys,  as 
I  promised  thee.  Go  on  to  the  hut,  and  give  thyself  food 
and  Tomaso.  Keep  close  and  answer  none.  I  will  be 
with  thee  presently." 

The  boy  went  on  obediently.  These  two  days  with  his 
rescuer  had  taught  him  and  Tomaso  both  that  what 
Francisco  said  he  meant,  and  his  word  was  their  law 
already.  But  Francisco  needed  stronger  allies. 

With  some  half- formed  thought  the  villa  might  conceal 
one,  he  now  returned  to  his  attack  upon  the  ivy,  and  after 
many  a  wrench  and  cut  and  struggle,  the  garden  door 
stood  bare  enough  to  use.  It  was  stained,  discolored, 
locked  and  immovable. 

But  this  was  nothing  to  Francisco ;  with  knife  and  dag- 
ger he  cut  the  woodwork  around  the  lock,  removed  it,  and 
thrusting  his  hand  and  arm  well  through  the  breach,  with 
no  great  difficulty  withdrew  the  upper  and  lower  bolts. 
With  knee  and  shoulder  then  he  pressed  inward,  driving 
against  the  weeds  and  growths  that  choked  it,  and  pres- 
ently had  forced  an  aperture  that  would  admit  him. 

After  many  a  cautious  glance  along  the  meadow  path, 
fortunately  for  his  purpose  little  used,  he  replaced  the 
loose  strands  of  ivy  as  far  as  he  was  able,  and  slipping 
through,  pushed  the  door  back  into  its  place,  filling  up 
the  broken  lock  with  green. 


5o  THE   VIPER   OF   MILAN 

He  was  in  a  garden  of  great  beauty.  The  yew-tree 
overhead  shaded  a  patch  of  velvety  green  starred  with 
daisies.  Before  him  a  straight  path  led  to  a  marble  seat 
and  a  belt  of  cypress-trees. 

The  ring-doves  cooed  blissfully;  the  flowering  trees 
stirred ;  there  was  no  other  sound  save  the  distant  one  of 
faintly  plashing  water.  Treading  softly,  Francisco  set 
forward  in  the  direction  in  which  he  knew  the  villa  lay. 


CHAPTER   SIX 

THE  RESCUE  OF   COUNT   VON   SCHULEMBOURG 

I  HE  house,  a  low,  graceful  building  of  white  marble, 
was  approached  by  a  broad  flight  of  steps,  flanked  by  a 
balustrade  almost  hidden  in  early  roses,  which  trailed  in 
great  clusters  over  it  and  along  the  velvet  turf.  Fronting 
it  was  a  great  fountain,  and  a  wide  avenue  of  yew  trees, 
patched  with  sunshine,  led  up  to  the  fagade. 

To  right  and  left  spread  turf-grown  paths,  edged  with 
orange  and  lemon  trees,  and  sweet  with  the  scent  of 
the  citron  and  myrtle;  around  their  roots  grew  violets, 
primroses,  daffodils;  and  behind,  beyond,  on  all  sides, 
were  grass  and  walks  and  trees,  a  sea  of  moving  green. 

The  place  was  profoundly  quiet.  The  statues,  placed 
here  and  there,  looked  out  from  the  foliage  smiling ;  the 
dainty  seats  of  colored  stone  were  empty,  innocent  of 
satin  skirt  or  ruffled  cloak.  There  was  no  sign  of  the 
recent  care  of  man;  no  wild  things  stirred;  beside  the 
basins  of  the  fountains  lay  two  peacocks,  dead.  The  villa 
doors  were  open,  showing  something  of  the  long  corridor 
that  traversed  the  lower  floor,  but  silent  as  the  scene 
without.  The  stillness  was  unnatural;  the  beauty  of  the 
place,  the  two  dead  gorgeous  birds,  the  open  doors  and 
lovely  sunshine,  made  an  impression  that  appalled. 

The  day  was  long  past  noon  when,  through  the  dim 
corridor,  there  was  the  faint  flutter  of  garments.  Some 
one  was  slowly  moving.  The  sunbeam's  slanting  ray 
struck  through  the  doorway  on  a  strange,  haggard- 
looking    figure:    a    man.    He    was    wasted,    bent,    and 

Si 


52  THE   VIPER   OF   MILAN 

shrunken ;  his  limbs  tottering  under  him.  Where  his  blue 
velvet  cloak  fell  back,  it  showed  a  splendid  suit  of  black 
and  gold,  embroidered  and  decked  out  with  ribbons,  but 
the  splendor  hung  upon  a  hollow  frame:  a  skeleton. 
Long  locks  of  pale  gold  hair  heightened  the  ghastly  hol- 
lowness  of  the  pinched  face.  Conrad  von  Schulembourg 
was  paying  with  this  form  of  death  for  the  favor  of 
Valentine  Visconti;  as  her  brother's  favorite,  he  had 
thought  it  safe  to  lift  his  eyes  to  her;  being  something 
of  a  gallant  fool,  very  gay  to  face  danger,  very  incredu- 
lous of  it  ever  coming  to  him  in  this  hideous  shape.  He 
was  not  quick  to  read  character,  especially  Visconti's 
character.  Could  Gian  Visconti  have  seen  his  victim  now, 
even  he  might  have  started,  for  it  is  hard  to  imagine 
what  men  who  die  of  hunger  look  like. 

The  trees,  softly  moving,  made  pleasant  light  and 
shade;  the  myrtle  blossoms  blew  and  sailed  in  little 
clouds  of  mauve,  while  the  sweet-smelling  leaves  of  the 
citron  hung  their  rich  clusters  over  opening  lilies.  Con- 
rad, dragging  himself  across  the  grass,  with  straining 
eyes  and  parted  lips,  thought  only  of  the  water  in  the 
fountain,  and  saw  only  those  two  dead  birds.  Poisoned! 
Visconti  had  forestalled  all  chances. 

The  Count  had  scarcely  strength  for  any  definite  pur- 
pose of  self-help.  He  craved  water,  and  turned  to  drag 
himself  away  in  search  of  some  he  might  dare  drink. 
Ere  long,  he  knew  not  how,  he  reached  it ;  a  little  hollow 
fringed  with  fern,  in  its  center  a  calm  and  placid  pool, 
the  trees  mirrored  in  its  peaceful  surface.  Count  Con- 
rad fell  beside  it,  gazing  longingly.  A  statue  of  a  wood- 
god,  the  sunlight  yellow  in  the  hollow  eyes,  leaned  from 
among  the  bushes,  and  mocked  him  with  its  smile. 

Another  effort  and  he  had  reached  the  stone.  The  water 
was  so  cool,  so  clear,  so  pure  and  still,  it  seemed  impos- 
sible that  it  should  harm  him.  He  reached  his  hand  out, 


COUNT   VON    SCHULEMBOURG  53 

then  convulsively  resisting  the  impulse,  drew  it  back, 
and  sank  again  upon  the  grass.  At  a  flutter  of  white 
from  the  boughs  near,  Count  Conrad  lifted  his  eyes,  and 
saw  a  dove  that  flew  past  him  to  rest  upon  the  rim;  he 
watched  it  eagerly.  The  bird  preened  itself,  shook  its 
feathers  daintily,  stooped  and  drank.  Conrad  drew  him- 
self a  little  nearer.  Suddenly  with  a  cry  the  bird  whirled 
up  into  the  air,  beat  its  wings  together  vainly,  and  fell 
back  into  the  water,  dead !  Poisoned !  All  the  water  poi- 
soned! Desperation  giving  him  a  moment's  strength, 
Count  Conrad  rose  and  regarded  the  dead  dove  with 
greedy  eyes,  but  steeling  himself  against  the  impulse  to 
devour  his  own  death,  he  crawled  on  with  the  vague 
thought  to  reach  the  gate.  Some  instinct  of  remembrance 
guiding  his  stumbling  steps,  he  came  upon  it.  It  was  twice 
his  height,  and  all  its  elaborate  tracery  offered  no  single 
aperture  through  which  a  child  could  thrust  his  hand. 
Sick  and  blind  he  clung  to  it ;  he  tried  to  shout,  to  scream, 
his  voice  died  in  his  throat.  In  helpless  rage,  his  wild 
face  pressed  against  the  iron,  his  eyes  starting,  his  tongue 
lolling  out  of  his  dry  mouth,  he  gripped  and  shook  the 
lock. 

Two  children  running  by,  stopped,  gazed,  came  nearer, 
and  then  at  what  they  saw,  fled,  screaming.  No  one  else 
approached.  The  world  seemed  empty.  Twilight  began  to 
fall.  Then  in  his  half-delirium  Count  Conrad  thought 
again  of  the  dead  bird,  and  laughed  wolfishly  to  himself, 
making  with  tottering  steps  back  toward  the  hollow.  To 
search  coherently  for  food  or  drink  or  succor  was  now 
beyond  his  power.  Presently  again  he  sank  across  the 
grass  and  lay  there  crying  like  a  child,  whimpering  and 
whispering.  Once  or  twice  he  made  an  effort,  snatched  at 
the  long  grass,  fell  back  again,  and  lay  now  in  silence. 

After  a  time,  but  while  it  was  still  light,  he  seemed  to 
wake  as  from  a  trance,  and  saw  a  figure  moving  down 


54  THE   VIPER   OF   MILAN 

the  glade  toward  him.  Was  he  still  living?  He  could 
scarcely  tell.  Was  this  Visconti  come  again  to  mock  him  ? 
The  thought  spurred  the  man,  though  dying,  almost  to 
strive  to  rise  and  meet  his  fate  standing.  But  sky,  grass, 
trees,  and  stone  reeled  about  him  in  a  chaos  of  green  and 
blue.  He  strove  to  speak,  but  his  tongue  refused.  The 
dark  figure  came  nearer,  stopped  beside  him,  stooped  and 
spoke,  but  Count  Conrad  did  not  see  nor  heed.  He  lay, 
a  woeful  spectacle,  as  if  dead  indeed. 

He  awoke,  as  he  thought  never  to  wake  again,  with 
moistened  lips,  and  water  on  his  forehead,  and  a  face 
that  was  not  Visconti's  bending  over  him;  a  dark  face 
with  strange  brown  eyes  that  looked  at  him  with  sombre 
interest. 

"Thou  comest  from  the  Duke?"  gasped  Conrad. 
Francisco  shook  his  head. 

"  I  am  no  emissary  of  Visconti." 

"  Then  thou  comest  to  save  me?"  whispered  Conrad 
eagerly,  hope  dawning  in  his  eyes. 

"  I  will  save  thee  if  I  can,"  replied  Francisco.  "  Thou 
art  alone  ?  " 

Conrad  moved  his  head.  He  was  too  weak  for  more. 
Then  a  sudden  thought  shot  horror  into  his  face,  and  he 
struggled  to  a  sitting  posture. 

"  The  water !  "  he  gasped  out.  "  The  water — from  the 
fountain — thou  gave  me  to  drink  of  that  ?  " 

Francisco  followed  in  surprise  the  direction  of  his 
glance. 

"  No,"  he  said.  "  I  had  it  with  me ;  'twas  water  and 
wine  too." 

"  Oh !  "  Conrad  sank  back.  "  The  water  is  poisoned — 
all " 

"  Poisoned — Visconti's  doing !  "  said  Francisco. 

"  How  didst  thou  get  in  ?  "  whispered  Conrad  feebly. 
"  Visconti  barred  all  entrances." 


COUNT   VON    SCHULEMBOURG  55 

"  I  found  one  unknown  to  any ;  canst  thou,  with  my 
help,  walk  there  ?  " 

"  I  think — I  can  walk — to  safety,"  was  the  answer, 
and  the  love  of  life  lending  him  strength,  he  staggered 
to  his  feet,  and  helped  by  Francisco  and  invigorated  by 
the  wine,  made  slowly  forward. 

But  they  had  not  taken  many  steps  before  Francisco 
well  perceived  he  had  rescued  a  man  past  helping  him- 
self, well-nigh  past  any  help  from  others. 

With  a  sigh  Conrad  sank  speechless  into  his  arms. 

Francisco  looked  around  him.  He  had  come  far  from 
the  entrance  he  had  forced,  and  Conrad,  plainly  starved 
and  emaciated  as  he  was,  was  still  a  man  full  grown.  To 
leave  him  and  to  return  to  Tomaso  would  be  too  dan- 
gerous. The  place  must  be  under  observation.  But  to  seek 
safety  himself  and  abandon  the  helpless  man  was  not  a 
thought  to  occur  to  Francisco,  though,  hampered  by  his 
dead  weight,  he  would  be  at  any  pursuer's  mercy,  or  fall 
a  prey  to  any  ambush ;  so  with  stout  words  of  encourage- 
ment, and  forcing  more  wine  through  his  lips,  he  lifted 
the  Count  to  his  shoulder  and  made  as  rapidly  as  he  was 
able  to  the  door  beside  the  lichen.  It  was  a  breathless 
journey,  but  at  last,  and  unmolested,  Francisco  gained 
the  wall  and  laid  his  burden  down.  Reconnoitering  with- 
out, he  saw  no  sign  of  danger,  and,  glad  of  the  oncoming 
dusk,  dragged  up  the  man  and  laid  him,  at  least  free, 
outside  the  door.  The  cool  air  blowing  from  the  water, 
a  few  drops  more  wine,  in  which  Francisco  soaked  some 
crumbs  of  bread  he  found  within  his  wallet,  enabled  the 
rescued  man  again  to  move. 

It  was  an  easy  matter  now  to  bring  Vittore  and 
Tomaso,  who  would  not  be  left,  and  between  them  Con- 
rad, too  spent  to  put  questions,  was  carried  to  their  shel- 
ter and  laid  on  the  rough  heather  couch  in  the  hut,  from 
which  one  of  his  own  vassals  had  not  long  been  driven; 


56  THE   VIPER   OF   MILAN 

a  poor  asylum  enough,  but  one  for  which  he  only  too 
gladly  exchanged  the  deadly  splendor  of  his  own  mag- 
nificent abode. 

"  Who  is  he  ?  "  asked  Tomaso,  in  timid  surprise.  For 
the  first  time  since  their  knowledge  of  him  Francisco 
laughed,  and  without  bitterness. 

"  One  of  Visconti's  victims !  It  is  some  poor  satisfac- 
tion to  have  rescued  two,"  he  said.  "  I  know  nothing 
of  him  except  that  it  is  plainly  to  be  seen  he  is  some 
person  of  distinction.  We  will  nurse  him  to  the  best  of 
our  skill.  Tomaso,  he  may  be  of  use " 

Then  suddenly  Francisco's  humor  changed.  He  glanced 
around  him  at  the  boy,  the  youth,  scarcely  recovered  from 
his  fever,  the  ghastly  figure  on  the  ground  over  which 
he  bent,  and  fury  shook  him.  Of  what  use  anything 
against  Visconti  ?  "  Oh,  terrible  to  be  so  helpless ! "  he 
cried  passionately.  "  We  will  leave  this  place.  I  break  my 
heart  in  vain  against  the  walls  of  Milan.  I  will  to 
Ferrara,  to  Delia  Scala's  kinsfolk  there." 

"  And  they  will  aid  thee  ?  "  asked  Tomaso  trembling. 

Francisco  smiled,  but  this  time  grimly.  "  I  can  but 
try,"  he  said.  "  Delia  Scala  was  once  known  and  trusted 
there.  And  in  no  case  can  we  stay  here ! "  He  pointed 
down  at  Conrad.  "  The  place  will  not  be  safe  for  us,  let 
Visconti  once  discover  his  victim  has  escaped  him.  We 
will  depart  to  Ferrara,  and  fall  upon  Visconti  while  he 
is  unsuspecting  that  I — that  anyone  lives  to  still  animate 
the  Estes  against  him.  .  .  ." 

An  hour  or  two  later,  while  Vittore  and  Tomaso  slept, 
Francisco  keeping  watch  beside  him,  Conrad  woke  from 
a  light  doze  and  felt  that  he  had  hold  on  life  again.  He 
tried  to  murmur  thanks  to  his  preserver,  but  the  other 
checked  him. 

"  Thou  art  not  of  Italy  ?  "  he  said. 

"  I  am  Conrad  von  Schulembourg." 


COUNT   VON    SCHULEMBOURG  57 

*  Conrad  von  Schulembourg !  "  echoed  Francisco  in 
surprise.  "  Visconti's  trusted  friend !  " 

u  The  trusted  friend  of  him  who  fastened  me  within 
my  villa  yonder  to  die  a  lingering  death  of  hunger,  or  of 
poisoned  food."  The  drops  started  on  his  forehead,  he 
gasped  for  breath. 

Francisco  soothed  and  tended  him. 

"  Think  not  of  it ;  get  well,"  he  said,  as  he  had  said  to 
Tomaso.  "  Live  and  help  rid  the  world  of  the  Visconti. 
He  would  have  thee  die  a  dog's  death.  Is  not  life  dear 
to  thee?" 

"  Yes,  I  will  live,"  said  Conrad,  "  and  I  will  take  re- 
venge both  for  my  own  wrongs  and  for  a  woman's  sake." 

Francisco  turned  quickly  and  looked  at  him  keenly. 

"  A  woman's  sake !  Thy  motive  is  the  same  as  mine : 
I  too  am  living — for  a  woman's  sake." 

Then,  at  the  other's  questioning  stare,  Francisco  con- 
tinued more  quietly: 

"  I  am  from  Verona,  Count ;  that  will  tell  thee  much. 
I  belonged  to  Delia  Scala's  court,  and  barely  escaped 
with  life  from  the  sacking  of  the  town.  Thou  see'st  I  can 
for  that  and  other  matters  more  than  equal  thee  in  hatred 
of  Visconti." 

He  rose  and  moving  toward  the  door,  looked  out. 

"  Oh,  I  am  impatient !  "  he  cried  passionately,  "  to  be 
riding  toward  Ferrara !  " 


CHAPTER   SEVEN 

"  graziosa's  bracelet  " 

XlSIO  VISCONTI,  mounted  on  a  white  palfrey,  rode 
slowly  through  the  streets  of  Milan,  a  lean  figure,  with 
a  foolish  face  and  vacant  eyes. 

For  the  elder  Visconti  was  half-crazed,  a  fact  to  which 
perhaps  he  owed  his  life,  Gian  Galeazzo  not  fearing  his 
poor  disordered  intellect  enough  to  deprive  him  of  aught, 
save  his  birthright — the  sovereignty  of  Milan. 

One  or  two  men-at-arms,  in  splendid  livery,  rode  be- 
hind him,  and  as  he  passed  the  people  bowed  humbly, 
respecting  him  solely  as  the  Duke's  brother,  for  Tisio 
was  powerless  for  good  or  ill.  Some  few  there  were  who 
pitied  him. 

About  the  streets  of  Milan  he  was  a  far  more  familiar 
figure  than  his  brother,  who  was  seldom  seen,  but  of 
whose  unscrupulous  power  Tisio  was  the  living  symbol. 

Complete  liberty  was  allowed  him;  still  the  soldiers 
behind  were  rather  guards  than  servants,  and  charged  to 
see  he  did  not  leave  the  gates.  Dropping  his  loose  reins 
on  the  palfrey's  neck,  Tisio  Visconti  looked  around  him 
with  lack-luster  eyes  and  a  dull  smile.  He  was  riding 
through  the  long,  narrow  streets,  cobbled  and  overhung 
with  high  straight  houses,  that  lead  to  the  western  gate. 

Through  this  gate  his  father  lately,  his  brothers 
months  ago,  had  been  driven  to  their  deaths ;  his  father, 
infamously,  his  mother  beside  him,  in  the  full  light  of 
day  to  Brescia;  his  brothers,  secretly,  at  dead  of  night, 
to  Brescia  also,  from  whence  they  returned  no  more. 

5* 


"GRAZIOSA'S   BRACELET"  59 

Yet  to  Tisio  the  gate  and  street  had  no  memory  or 
meaning;  he  looked  ahead  of  him  at  the  green  trees 
beyond,  and  his  eyes  lit  up.  It  was  to  see  them  he  came. 
To  him  the  world  outside  Milan  was  paradise ;  sometimes 
the  soul  within  him  rose  and  chafed  at  his  dull  captivity, 
and  then  he  longed  passionately  for  those  green  fields 
and  trees,  which  he  knew  only  from  within  the  city  gates. 

The  street  was  empty  now;  it  was  noontide,  the  hour 
Tisio  preferred,  when  there  were  few  abroad.  The  sun  was 
hot,  its  rays  flashing  on  the  pikes  of  the  sentinels  who 
paced  the  walls ;  and  Tisio's  followers  wiped  their  brows 
and  chafed.  But  he  gazed  with  wistful  eyes,  unheeding, 
into  the  beauty  and  the  calm,  the  green  and  the  gold.  The 
sentry  took  no  heed  of  him ;  so  many  times  he  had  done 
the  same;  ridden  to  the  gates,  waited,  looking  eagerly 
through,  then  patiently  returned  to  the  gloom  of  the  Vis- 
conti  palace. 

Either  side  the  massive  entrance  lay  houses,  low,  of 
gray  stone,  enclosed  in  square  courtyards,  entered  by 
doors  deep  set  in  the  thick  walls. 

From  one  of  these,  as  Tisio  turned,  a  girl  emerged  in  a 
scarlet  robe.  She  carried  a  bunch  of  lilies,  on  her  arm 
hung  the  basket  that  betokened  her  errand.  She  and  the 
little  group  of  horsemen  were  the  only  life  in  the  silent, 
sunny  street.  Tisio's  eyes  lit  upon  her,  and  he  smiled. 
Like  all  the  Visconti,  there  was  poetry  mingled  with  his 
madness,  and  the  sight  of  beauty  touched  even  his  crazy 
brain. 

The  girl,  starting  when  she  saw  the  horsemen,  paused, 
as  if  to  retire,  her  hand  on  the  door,  her  brilliant  robe 
gorgeous  against  the  background  of  gray  wall.  The  color, 
and  the  sunshine  falling  over  her  golden  hair,  made  a 
picture  Tisio  was  not  slow  to  see ;  his  eyes  fixed  upon  her 
eagerly;  he  drew  up  his  horse  and  turned  to  the  page  who, 
spy  and  attendant  in  one,  invariably  accompanied  him. 


60  THE   VIPER   OF   MILAN 

"  I  would  speak  to  her,"  he  said,  with  the  eagerness  of 
a  child. 

The  girl,  seeing  she  attracted  notice,  turned,  frightened 
and  confused,  to  make  good  her  escape,  but  the  page,  rid- 
ing up,  stopped  her  authoritatively,  but  with  a  reassuring 
smile. 

"  'Tis  the  Lord  Tisio  Visconti,  lady ;  fear  nothing ;  he 
would  only  speak  with  thee,"  he  said. 

But  the  girl's  alarm  increased  at  the  mention  of  that 
dreaded  name. 

"  He  mistakes  me  for  another,  sir,"  she  said.  "  I  have 
never  so  much  as  seen  even  the  Duke  himself." 

"  My  lord  would  speak  with  thee,"  repeated  the  page. 
"  He  is  not  the  Duke,  but  it  is  the  Duke's  pleasure  that 
he  be  obeyed  in  matters  such  as  this.  Come,  maiden,  there 
is  no  need  to  fear :  it  is  an  honor." 

He  turned  his  rein  again,  and,  indeed,  not  daring  to 
refuse,  the  girl  followed  and  stood  timidly  by  Tisio's 
side.  He  looked  at  her  long  and  eagerly,  at  her  scarlet 
dress,  her  sunny  hair,  the  white  and  green  lilies  in  her 
hands.  Still  he  did  not  speak,  and  she  raised  her  head  and 
looked  around  questioningly  and  fearful.  But  the  page 
only  smiled :  the  men-at-arms  sat  silent  and  indifferent. 

"  Thou  art  very  beautiful,"  said  Tisio  at  last.  "  What 
is  thy  name  ?  Whose  daughter  art  thou  ?  " 

"  Graziosa  Vistarnini,  my  lord ;  Agnolo  Vistarnini  is 
my  father.  He  is  a  painter." 

But  Tisio's  eyes  grew  vacant,  and  his  gaze  wandered  to 
the  lilies. 

"  Did  they  come  from  yonder  ?  "  he  asked,  and  pointed 
beyond  the  gate. 

"  No,  my  lord.  From  a  friend's  garden.  My  father 
thinks  to  paint  them." 

Still  Tisio  did  not  heed  her  answer ;  he  laughed  fool- 
ishly. 


"GRAZIOSA'S    BRACELET"  61 

*  I  may  go  ?  "  asked  Graziosa  timidly.  "  I  may  go,  my 
lord?" 

He  bent  from  the  saddle  and  lifted  from  her  shoulder 
a  long  lock  of  her  curling  hair,  and  stroked  it,  dropping 
it  with  a  sigh. 

"  Give  me  these,"  he  said,  pointing  to  the  lilies ;  "  all 
the  flowers  I  know  grow  in  Gian's  garden, — Gian  is  the 
Duke  of  Milan." 

And  at  his  words,  and  the  tone  in  which  he  spoke  them, 
Graziosa's  pity  overcame  her  fear. 

In  silence,  tears  in  her  eyes,  she  handed  him  the  flow- 
ers. He  took  them  eagerly,  but  before  she  could  withdraw 
her  hand,  he  grasped  her  arm  with  a  childish  exclamation 
and  touched  the  bracelet  of  fine  workmanship  she  wore 
upon  the  wrist. 

"  I  will  have  this  too,"  he  said,  laughing  with  satisfac- 
tion :  but  the  girl  drew  her  arm  back  sharply  and  turned 
to  go. 

Tisio  fumed.  "  The  bracelet,"  he  said  peevishly,  and 
the  page  motioned  to  her  harshly  to  remain. 

Graziosa  turned  to  him  in  confusion  and  distress. 

"  I  cannot  give  it  him,"  she  said,  the  tears  starting.  "  I 
entreat  thee,  sir,  ask  him  to  let  me  go." 

But  the  page  intimated  to  her  warningly  she  had  best 
make  no  to-do.  There  was  only  one  law  for  the  citizens 
of  Milan :  that  was  the  tyranny  of  the  Visconti ;  let  the 
one  who  encountered  it  only  in  the  capricious  whim  of 
the  crazy  Tisio  be  thankful. 

"  Hold  it  good  fortune,  it  is  naught  but  a  bauble  he 
demands,"  said  the  page.  "  Give  him  the  bracelet ;  he  will 
drop  it,  forgotten,  to-morrow.  Ask  for  me  one  day  at  the 
palace.  I  will  restore  it.  But  give  it  now,  before  he  grows 
angry.  Thou  hadst  better." 

Tisio's  face  was  darkening. 

"  Make  haste,  make  haste,"  cried  the  page  impatiently, 


62  THE   VIPER   OF    MILAN 

"  or  it  will  be  thee  and  thy  bracelet  both  that  will  be 
carried  off." 

"  My  betrothed  gave  it  to  me,"  she  murmured.  "  I  can- 
not part  with  it." 

"  I  will  have  it,"  repeated  Tisio  imperiously,  with  out- 
stretched hand.  Graziosa's  helpless  tears  were  flowing; 
slowly  she  unclasped  the  bracelet;  the  page  took  her 
treasure  with  an  easy  air,  handed  it  to  his  master,  and 
turned  the  horses'  heads  toward  home. 

"  Thou  wilt  be  none  the  worse,"  he  laughed,  as  they 
rode  away.  Tisio,  absorbed  in  his  new  toy,  gave  her 
neither  look  nor  thought,  for  jewels,  gold  ornaments  of 
rare  design,  were  the  craze  of  this  Visconti's  crazy  brain. 

Graziosa  pressed  her  bare  arm  to  her  lips,  and  looked 
after  them,  the  tears  of  vexation  streaming  down.  She 
thought  of  Ambrogio,  the  painter-lover,  whose  gift  it 
was :  what  would  he  say  to  find  her  bracelet  gone  ? 

"  Oh,  if  only  Ambrogio  had  been  here,"  she  cried,  u  he 
would  not  have  let  the  Duke  himself  take  it  from  me — 
but  I — what  could  I  do  ? — if  only  he  is  not  angry  that  I 
let  it  go." 

She  had  not  much  faith  in  the  page's  words;  besides, 
how  dare  she  venture  to  the  Visconti's  palace?  Her  tears 
flowed  afresh ;  she  picked  up  the  poor  discarded  lilies, 
all  her  pleasure  gone.  In  the  distance  she  could  see  Tisio, 
still  handling  the  bracelet  with  delight,  and  she  half- 
smiled,  even  through  her  tears,  at  so  strange  and  pitiful 
a  thing.  "  It  makes  the  poor  crazy  lord  happy,"  she  said 
softly,  "  but  it  breaks  my  heart  to  lose  it."  She  watched 
Tisio  disappear;  then,  her  loss  a  certainty,  she  turned 
with  reluctant  feet  upon  her  errand. 

Meanwhile  Tisio,  absorbed  in  his  new  spoil,  rode 
toward  the  palace. 

The  projecting  gables  of  the  houses  sent  clear-cut 
shadows  across  his  path ;  the  strong  noonday  sun  blended 


"GRAZIOSA'S   BRACELET"  63 

the  city  into  brilliant  light  and  shade,  broken  only  by  the 
vivid  color  of  the  drapery  fluttering  at  some  unshaded 
window,  or  the  sudden  flash  of  pigeon's  wings  against 
the  golden  air. 

As  they  neared  the  great  gate  of  the  palace,  a  group  of 
horsemen,  galloping  noisily  ahead  of  them,  dashed  into 
the  vast  courtyard  and  drew  rein  with  a  fine  clatter  at 
the  entrance  steps. 

Tisio,  following,  raised  his  head,  and  looked  dully  at 
them — a  band  of  his  brother's  soldiers,  hired  mercenaries ; 
it  was  usual  enough  to  meet  them  both  within  and  with- 
out the  Visconti's  abode.  As  he  was  dismounting,  the 
leader  of  the  band  addressed  him  familiarly. 

"  My  lord  hears  thee  not,  sir,"  said  the  page,  "  his 
thoughts  are  with  his  spoils." 

The  soldier  laughed  with  a  grimace. 

It  was  the  freedom  of  one  whose  services  are  valuable 
enough,  even  when  well  paid,  to  permit  him  to  bear  him- 
self with  small  respect  to  his  employers.  For  the  mer- 
cenaries were  a  power ;  the  transfer  of  their  services  could 
ruin  states  and  lose  towns,  and  even  Visconti  had  to  pay 
them  well  and  concede  license  to  their  leaders ;  for  upon 
them,  to  a  great  extent,  his  sovereignty  rested,  and  Al- 
beric  da  Salluzzo  could  take  more  liberties  than  any. 
He  was  a  famous  captain,  noted  for  his  skill  in  wars  and 
turbulence  in  peace,  a  man  with  no  country  and  no  honor, 
endowed  with  dauntless  courage  and  endurance,  of  vast 
rapacity  and  of  all  the  cruelty  his  age  allowed. 

Making  no  way  for  Tisio,  and  motioning  curtly  to  his 
men,  he  strode  up  the  stairs,  a  stalwart  figure,  over- 
dressed in  splendid  armor,  and  swung  into  the  antecham- 
ber of  the  Visconti's  audience-room.  It  was  deserted.  Al- 
beric,  astonished,  paused  on  the  threshold,  looking  around 
in  amazement  for  the  crowd— courtiers,  servants,  seekers, 
soldiers — wont  to  fill  it. 


64  THE   VIPER   OF   MILAN 

Opposite  was  the  closed  door  of  the  Visconti's  room, 
but  even  Alberic  dare  not  knock  there  unannounced.  He 
was  turning  away  to  seek  enlightenment,  when  a  dark 
form  he  had  passed  unnoticed  in  the  distant  shadows  of 
the  great  room  rose,  and  he  recognized,  as  it  advanced, 
the  secretary's  stooping  figure. 

"  What  has  happened  here  ?  "  demanded  the  soldier. 

"  Is  there  need  to  ask  ?  "  answered  Giannotto.  "  The 
Duke  has  had  the  room  cleared.  He  will  see  no  one."  Al- 
beric half-laughed,  and  shrugged  his  shoulders. 

"  The  madness  is  on  him  at  Count  von  Schulembourg's 
escape.  Is  that  it  ?  "  he  asked.  "  But  art  even  thou  ex- 
cluded ? "  he  continued  in  surprise,  for  Giannotto  was 
the  one  man  who  could  come  and  go  unannounced,  un- 
bidden, the  one  man  who  knew  Visconti's  secrets. 

The  secretary  smiled,  the  slow  smile  that  men's  lips 
learned  in  the  Visconti  palace. 

"  It  is  best  for  the  Duke  to  be  alone,  and  for  me  that 
he  should  be,"  he  said.  "  The  news  that  Count  Conrad 
has  escaped  hath  galled  him  much;  it  came  at  a  bad 
moment  too,  following  on  those  parchments  twice  found 
within  the  grounds  " — he  paused.  "  Thou  wert  sent  to 
find  the  writer,  or  the  one  who  put  them  there ;  art  thou 
successful ?  " 

Alberic  shook  his  head.  "  I  return  as  I  went.  Beyond 
finding  that  doorway  forced  in  the  wall,  messer  secretary, 
there  is  no  token  whatsoever  of  how  the  Count  escaped. 
But  after  so  long  a  fast,  messer,"  Alberic  showed  his 
teeth,  "  it  is  not  likely  that  it  was  alone." 

"  The  one  who  aided  him  is  he  who  inscribed  those 
parchments  ?  " 

"  'Twould  seem  so,"  answered  Alberic.  "  We  have 
searched  anew  among  the  huts  from  which  we  drove 
Count  Conrad's  German  dogs;  on  the  threshold  of  the 
largest  there  was — this." 


"GRAZIOSA'S    BRACELET"  65 

He  drew  out  of  his  breast  a  parchment,  a  long  narrow 
strip,  scrawled  across  in  irregular  writing,  and  handed  it 
to  Giannotto. 

"  What  does  it  say  ?  "  he  asked. 

Giannotto  glanced  at  it  hastily,  his  eyes  on  the  Duke's 
door. 

He  read,  u  Delia  Scala  lives !  w 

The  captain  whistled  softly.  "  Now,  thou  may'st  hand 
that  to  the  Duke  instead  of  me,"  he  said. 

Giannotto  searched  the  writing  keenly.  "  Delia  Scala 
cannot  live ;  'tis  some  trick  of  the  Torriani." 

Alberic  laughed  harshly.  "  Whate'er  it  be,  I  say  thou 
shalt  have  the  pleasure  of  showing  it  the  Duke ! " 

"  Nay,  thou  must  speak  of  thy  own  failures,  friend. 
Besides,  the  Duke  will  need  thee  for  his  further  orders. 
Count  Conrad  must  be  found,  alive  or  dead !  " 

*  Was  it  his  ghost  attacked  the  walls  last  night  ? " 
asked  Alberic ;  and  not  wholly  did  he  speak  in  jest. 

The  secretary  cast  uneasy  looks  across  his  shoulder  at 
the  ominously  shut  door. 

"  It  angered  Visconti  strangely,"  he  whispered.  "  But 
it  was  a  handful  of  madmen.  Wandering  robbers  from 
the  hills!  They  were  four  at  most,  and  they  tried  to 
scale  the  walls  of  Milan ! "  He  smiled  in  scorn. 

"  And  yet,"  said  Alberic,  "  they  were  almost  on  the 
ramparts  ere  they  were  discovered,  and  when  they 
were  pursued,  fled  back  into  the  night  silently,  nor 
could  we  find  from  whence  they  came,  nor  any  trace 
of  them." 

"  However  that  may  be,"  said  Giannotto,  "  the  Duke 
hath  dismissed  even  me,  and  the  delivery  of  this  parch- 
ment had  best  wait  till  his  black  fit  has  left  him."  , 

He  raised  the  arras  from  the  entrance  that  opened  on 
the  stairway,  and  passed  out  of  sight  along  the  corridor, 
leaving  Alberic  standing  in  the  unguarded  entrance  of 


66  THE   VIPER   OF   MILAN 

the  deserted  audience-room,  undecided,  the  parchment  in 
his  hand. 

But  he  did  not  stand  there  long  alone.  One  or  two 
servants  stole  back  to  their  places,  afraid  to  stay  away; 
and  presently,  with  slow  steps  and  vacant  smile,  there 
passed  by  him  Tisio  Visconti,  followed  by  the  page  who 
never  left  him. 

"  Thou,  my  lord  ?  "  cried  Alberic.  "  Now,  how  would 
it  be  if  I  ask  him  to  hand  this  parchment  over  ?  "  and  he 
turned  with  a  swaggering  laugh  to  the  page. 

The  page  shook  his  head,  not  comprehending.  Tisio, 
unheeding,  seated  himself  in  one  of  the  great  chairs, 
Graziosa's  bracelet  still  between  his  fingers. 

"  I  will  wait  no  longer/'  cried  Alberic  suddenly ;  "  let 
the  Duke  summon  me." 

But  the  next  moment  Alberic's  swagger  dropped,  and 
he  swung  his  plumed  hat  low  to  the  lady  who,  un- 
attended, stole  across  the  threshold. 

It  was  Valentine  Visconti. 

Her  breast  was  heaving ;  suppressed  excitement  showed 
in  every  movement;  it  was  not  difficult  for  Alberic  to 
read  she  had  heard  of  Count  Conrad's  rescue. 

With  a  motion  of  the  hand  she  bade  him  wait,  and 
turned  to  her  brother,  huddled  in  his  chair,  gazing  blankly 
at  the  floor. 

"  Tisio ! "  she  said,  and  her  tone  was  very  gentle. 
"  What  dost  thou  here?  " 

He  looked  up,  and  his  dull  face  lit  at  sight  of  her. 

"  I  wait  for  Gian,"  he  said  simply. 

Valentine  shuddered.  "  What  wouldst  thou  see  him  for, 
Tisio?" 

He  smiled,  and  held  out  the  bracelet.  "  To  show  him 
this." 

The  tears  rushed  to  Valentine's  eyes,  but  she  remem- 
bered the  captain  and  turned  to  him. 


"GRAZIOSA'S    BRACELET"  67 

"  Thou  carryest  something  here  to  give  the  Duke  ?  " 
she  asked. 

"  Another  parchment,  lady,"  said  the  captain.  "  But  I 
fear  my  lord  is  in  no  humor  for  its  contents." 

Valentine's  eyes  sparkled  lightly.  "  Thou  hast  not  the 
courage  to  present  it  ?  " 

"  I  confess,  lady,  I  am  waiting  till  I  am  obliged  to," 
answered  Alberic. 

Valentine  held  out  her  hand.  "  Give  me  the  paper ;  I 
will  give  it  to  my  brother !  " 

The  captain  hesitated. 

*  Since  thou  hast  not  the  courage,"  she  added  almost 
with  a  laugh.  All  Gian's  orders  had  not  availed  to  pre- 
vent some  whisper  reaching  Valentine  of  his  evil  humor 
and  the  cause  of  it:  Conrad's  escape,  the  threatening 
parchments;  the  hint  that  Delia  Scala  lived.  Alberic, 
glancing  at  her,  saw  a  triumph  and  a  malice  in  the  lady's 
glance  that  made  him  doubly  feel  he  did  not  care  just 
then  to  wait  Visconti's  coming.  But  still  he  hesitated ; 
the  Duke  might  vent  on  him  his  fury  with  his  sister. 

"  This  business  will  not  wait,"  cried  Valentine,  "  give 
me  the  parchment  to  deliver,  or  knock  at  yonder  door 
and  hand  it  to  the  Duke  yourself." 

But  the  captain  of  the  mercenaries  bent  low,  shook  his 
head  with  a  significant  gesture,  and,  handing  over  the 
fatal  missive,  bowed  himself  away.  Valentine  turned 
again  to  Tisio's  page. 

*  Take  thy  lord  away,"  she  said.  "  The  Duke  may  not 
be  best  pleased  to  see  him  here." 

But  Tisio  would  not  go.  Valentine,  bending  over  him, 
stroked  his  hands  tenderly,  then  breaking  from  him, 
leaned  against  the  wall  in  sudden  woe. 

"  All  of  us  crazed,"  she  cried  bitterly.  "  All  of  us, 
surely ;  wretched  people  that  we  are !  " 

Then,  at  the  sight  of  the  parchment  she  held,  her 


68  THE   VIPER   OF   MILAN 

former  mood  returned.  Conrad  was  alive !  He  had  vowed 
devotion.  He  would  return  to  her  rescue.  She  would  live 
to  be  free;  to  come  and  go  outside  the  Visconti  palace, 
outside  Milan,  out  yonder  in  the  world.  She  leaned  back 
against  the  arras  a  moment,  dizzy  at  the  thought  of  so 
much  joy,  and  her  courage  rose  high,  her  eyes  danced. 

"  The  Duke  must  have  this  parchment,"  she  said ;  "  and 
since  Alberic  da  Salluzzo  does  not  care  to  seek  an  audi- 
ence for  it,  why,  Tisio,  thou  shalt  see  me  give  it.  The 
Duke  loves  not  an  interruption  when  he  is  angry,"  she 
added,  with  a  soft  laugh.  "  But  'tis  my  duty  to  show 
him  this." 

And  she  advanced  toward  the  ominously  closed  door. 

The  page  looked  uneasy.  He  had  no  wish  to  face  Vis- 
conti in  his  fury.  Yet  well  he  knew  he  dared  not  leave 
his  charge. 

Valentine  tapped  at  the  door  with  gentle  fingers. 

"Gian!"  she  called. 

"  Lady,  this  is  madness ! "  cried  the  page,  startled  into 
speech. 

She  looked  over  her  shoulder. 

"  I  am  also  a  Visconti,  boy,"  she  said.  "  Why  should 
I  fear  the  Duke?" 

"  Gian ! "  she  called  again,  her  beautiful  head  close  to 
the  dark  panels.  "  I  have  something  here  of  great  mo- 
ment. Why  let  everyone  know  thou  art  so  moved  ?  Gian ! 
Thou  makest  thyself  a  mock ;  dost  thou  fear  Count  Con- 
rad, that  his  escape  moves  thee  so  ?  " 

A  pause:  then  with  a  smile  Valentine  stepped  back  a 
pace  or  two  into  the  chamber. 

"  The  Duke  comes ! "  she  said,  and  the  page  turned 
pale. 

The  inner  door  opened  as  smoothly  as  silently,  and 
Visconti  stood  there  looking  at  the  trio.  He  was  dressed 
in  purple  velvet,  but  his  doublet  was  tumbled,  the  fine 


"GRAZIOSA'S   BRACELET"  60 

lace  frills  at  his  wrists  were  torn  to  rags,  his  eyes  strained 
wide  open,  and  for  a  moment,  as  it  was  with  any  who 
encountered  it,  his  expression  gave  his  sister  pause.  But 
again  she  remembered  Conrad  lived,  and  she  held  out 
the  parchment.  "  I  thought  it  well  to  give  you  this,"  she 
said. 

Gian  advanced  and  took  it  in  silence.  But  those  torn 
ruffles,  that  disordered  doublet,  had  their  meanings,  and 
the  look  in  those  wide  eyes,  as  he  turned  them  on  her, 
quelled  the  mockery  in  hers,  spite  of  herself. 

"  Begone !  "  he  said,  "  and  do  not  usurp  another's  of- 
fice again.  Leave  me." 

"  With  thine  own  thoughts,  brother  ?  "  she  said  softly, 
facing  him. 

"  Be  careful,"  he  answered ;  "  thou  shouldst  know  my 
humors,  and  that  'tis  dangerous  to  cross  them.  Remem- 
ber it  only  suits  my  purpose  that  thou  shouldst  live !  " 

At  this  Tisio,  as  if  half-comprehending  the  threat,  rose, 
and  his  brother's  eyes  fell  on  him. 

"  Thou  too !  What  dost  thou  about  my  doors  ?  hast 
thou  come  too  to  dare  me  with  thy  folly  ?  " 

His  eyes  blazed,  his  hands  worked.  Tisio,  dazed  and 
affrighted,  let  fall  Graziosa's  bracelet. 

The  page  stooped  to  recover  it. 

"  What  hast  thou  there  ?  "  cried  Visconti  with  sudden 
change  of  tone;  and  the  page,  quivering  for  his  life, 
handed  the  bracelet  on  bent  knee.  Visconti  studied  it  one 
second,  then,  with  a  sound  of  fury  that  sent  the  boy 
crouching  back  against  the  wall,  control  left  him.  His 
eyes  lighted  on  Tisio,  and  in  maniacal  fury  he  seized 
him  by  the  shoulder  and  shook  him  as  though  he  were 
a  rag. 

"  How  earnest  thou  by  this  ?  "  he  yelled.  "  How  came 
this  bracelet  in  the  Visconti  palace  ?  Answer  me ! " 

Tisio  whimpered,  but  had  no  reply,  till,  with  a  shout, 


7o  THE   VIPER   OF   MILAN 

Visconti  flung  him  from  him  with  such  force  that,  save 
for  Valentine,  he  would  have  fallen ;  then  he  turned  upon 
the  page  who  knelt  by,  trembling. 

"  Answer  me !  "  he  cried  furiously.  "  Answer !  Where 
got  the  fool  this  ?  "  He  held  the  bracelet  out.  And  the 
sight  of  those  torn  ruffles  around  his  long  white  hands 
made  the  boy's  hair  rise. 

"  Indeed,  my  lord,"  he  gasped,  "  a  girl,  whom  my  Lord 
Tisio — met  by  the  western  gate " 

"  Gave  it  him !  "  shrieked  Visconti.  "  Ah,  the  three  of 
thee  shall  pay  dearly  for  this  hour's  trifling  with  me !  " 

"  My  lord  took  it,"  cried  the  page,  half-wild  with  ter- 
ror. "  He  took  it,  my  lord ;  she  wept  to  give  it." 

"  She  wept  to  give  it,"  said  Visconti  slowly. 

There  was  a  pause.  When  he  spoke  again,  his  tone  was 
calmer. 

"  Then  he  shall  be  slain  for  taking  it,"  he  said,  flash- 
ing a  look  on  Tisio,  who,  huddled  in  the  chair,  moaned 
with  distress  as  he  leaned  against  his  sister. 

"  Shame !  Calm  thyself !  "  cried  Valentine.  "  What  has 
Tisio  done?  is  this  the  first  ornament  he  has  liked  and 
taken?  Have  they  not  orders  to  let  him  have  his  pleas- 


ure 


"  Mark  me/'  returned  Visconti.  "  Take  care  thou  dost 
not  make  my  dislike  overrule  my  ambition — the  pair  of 
thee  hold  your  lives  solely  at  my  pleasure." 

He  turned  to  the  page. 

"  Go,  and  take  thy  fool  with  thee,  and  keep  from  mv 
sight." 

With  a  white  face  the  wretched  page  rose  and  helped 
Tisio  to  his  feet.  At  a  whisper  from  his  sister  he  went 
meekly,  Visconti's  mad  eyes  on  him  the  while. 

A  terrible  silence  fell. 

Valentine  steadied  herself  against  the  arras.  She  was 
thankful  to  see  Tisio  go — alive.  To  ask  why  the  jewel 


"GRAZIOSA'S    BRACELET"  7i 

Tisio  had  fondled  had  so  angered  Gian  was  beyond  her 
daring.  "  He  is  possessed,"  she  murmured  to  herself. 

With  an  unpleasant  laugh  Visconti  turned  to  her. 

"  Didst  thou  urge  him  to  flaunt  me  with  this  ?  "  he 
asked. 

"  Flaunt  thee?  "  said  Valentine.  "  How  should  I  know 
a  toy  like  that  could  rouse  such  fury  ?  " 

The  Duke  looked  at  her  keenly,  and  crushed  the  brace- 
let together  in  his  hand. 

"  As  I  say,  thou  darest  me  far  because  thou  art  worth 
something  to  my  plans — but  I  have  the  power,  and  I 
keep  it." 

She  was  silent,  and  he  turned  to  pass  back  into  his  own 
room.  But  at  the  same  moment  Giannotto  spoke.  He  had 
entered  unobserved,  and  drew  near  his  master  with  an 
obsequious  movement. 

But  Visconti  met  him  with  a  snarl. 

"  I  will  see  no  one !  Did  I  not  say  so  ?  Take  care,  Gian- 
notto, lest  I  see  thee  too  often." 

The  secretary  paled,  but  kept  his  composure.  He  had 
learned  that  to  shrink  before  Visconti  only  served  to 
arouse  him  the  more. 

"  I  would  merely  say,  my  lord,"  he  remarked,  "  Al- 
beric  da  Salluzzo  awaits  further  orders." 

"  Hath  he  found  the  Count  ?  "  flashed  Visconti. 

"  My  lord,  no ;  nor  trace  of  him,  unless  these  parch- 
ments be  one." 

"  Thou  hast  another  there  ?  " 

Giannotto,  bowing  low,  handed  Visconti  a  packet.  His 
head  was  bent,  his  eyes  downcast,  and  the  smile  that 
flickered  over  his  thin  lips  unseen. 

"  This,  my  lord,  was  brought  in  by  one  of  Alberic's 
men — found  an  hour  since  outside  the  gates  of  Count 
Conrad's  villa." 

It  was  sealed,  and  inscribed  with  the  Visconti's  name. 


72  THE   VIPER   OF   MILAN 

Visconti  seized  it,  and  Giannotto,  stepping  back, 
watched  furtively  his  furious  face. 

Gian  looked  at  the  packet.  There  was  no  attempt  to 
disguise  the  writing.  It  was  the  same  as  that  upon  the 
parchment  Valentine  had  given  him  with  its  brief  threat : 
"  Delia  Scala  lives,"  and  the  seal  of  it  was  the  Ladder 
of  the  Scaligeri.  Long  Visconti  fingered  it  in  silence, 
then  remembering  he  was  not  alone,  glanced  wrath  fully 
up  to  see  that  Valentine  was  watching  him  with  a  faint 
smile  of  scorn,  and  that  Giannotto,  for  all  his  downcast 
head,  waited  with  eyes  keen  with  expectation.  But  Vis- 
conti curbed  himself.  To  have  the  mastery  of  others  he 
must  keep  the  mastery  of  himself. 

"  Giannotto,"  he  said,  and  the  secretary  started  as  if 
a  whip  had  touched  him,  "  thou  wilt  see  to  it  that  Da 
Salluzzo  searches  Milan  and  all  Lombardy — that  he 
spares  neither  treasure  nor  blood — and  that  he  brings 
to  me  dead,  or  living,  Count  Conrad  von  Schulembourg, 
and  the  writer  of  these  parchments." 

With  an  obeisance  Giannotto  went,  in  silence,  and  Vis- 
conti slowly  broke  the  seal  of  the  packet.  Then  he  turned 
to  Valentine. 

"  Art  thou  waiting  to  see  if  it  contains  a  message  from 
thy  Conrad  ?  "  he  said  fiercely.  "  Have  no  fear !  Thou 
shalt  see  his  head  ere  night." 

She  shuddered  before  the  taunt,  and  turned  to  leave 
him.  It  was  always  the  same ;  let  her  meet  Visconti  with 
never  so  high  courage,  she  left  him  quelled,  discomfited, 
dismayed. 

"  Go ! "  shouted  Visconti,  in  sudden  fury,  and  she 
stayed  no  longer  to  question  or  defy. 

Carrying  the  half-opened  packet  and  the  parchment, 
Visconti  re-entered  his  private  room.  It  was  dark  and 
silent;  no  sound  from  within  or  without  broke  its  de- 
serted gloom. 


"GRAZIOSA'S    BRACELET  "  73 

He  was  alone,  nor  was  he  like  to  be  disturbed.  Seat- 
ing himself,  not  without  a  furtive  glance  over  his  shoul- 
der, he  looked  at  the  writing  again,  the  writing  and  the 
seal,  then  opened  the  packet. 

A  roll  of  parchment,  close  writ,  strangely  stained  in 
places  a  reddish  brown,  fell  with  a  rattle  on  the  floor. 
Visconti  started  back,  he  stared  at  it,  uttered  a  hoarse 
sound,  stooped  and  picked  it  up.  The  parchment  was  in- 
scribed with  poetry.  Here  and  there  among  the  stains  a 
line  was  readable. 

"  Perchance  thou  wouldst  not  dare  to  turn " 

His  glance  caught  the  words.  He  looked  around  with 
wild  eyes. 

A  huge,  black  bureau,  fitted  with  many  drawers,  stood 
in  one  corner  of  the  room.  Visconti,  the  parchment  in  his 
shaking  fingers,  went  to  it,  still  with  glances  around,  and 
drew  out  drawer  after  drawer,  till  he  had  found  the  thing 
he  sought.  It  was  among  neat  piles  of  parchments,  anno- 
tated in  Giannotto's  clear,  good  hand. 

Visconti  turned  them  over  hastily,  till  he  came  upon  a 
document  hung  with  the  seals  of  Verona,  a  cartel  of 
defiance,  neatly  endorsed  in  a  clerkly  hand,  and  signed  in 
large,  bold  writing,  "  Mastino  della  Scala." 

Eagerly  he  turned  to  the  cover  of  the  packet,  and  laid 
the  two  writings  side  by  side.  They  were  the  same. 

Visconti  leaned  against  the  black  chest,  breathing 
heavily,  his  face  not  good  to  look  on  in  its  white 
devilry. 

"  He  lives !  Delia  Scala  lives !  "  he  cried,  and  struck  at 
himself  in  his  rage.  Then  his  gaze  came  back  to  the  blood- 
stained parchment  crumpled  in  his  hand. 

"  And  this — ?  and  this — where  got  he  this?  The  parch- 
ment that  I  read  from  on  the  road  that  day;  the  parch- 
ment that  I  thought  was  left  at  Brescia,  in  that " 


74  THE   VIPER   OF   MILAN 

The  words  died  away  on  his  lips.  In  a  sudden  par- 
oxysm of  something  more  than  fury,  Visconti  drove  it 
down  among  the  others  within  the  drawer,  and  locked 
and  double-locked  it  in. 

The  day  was  fading ;  in  that  dull  chamber  the  light  fled 
early  and  entered  late.  Visconti  glanced  again  stealthily 
at  the  dark  arras,  faint  in  the  dusk.  He  strained  his  ears 
listening;  the  air  was  full  of  voices,  far  away,  pleading, 
for  the  most  part,  yet  some  so  near  and  threatening,  Vis- 
conti held  his  ears.  They  died  away  as  they  had  come, 
but  to  Visconti  the  silence  was  more  terrible. 

"  Giannotto !  "  he  called.  "  Lights !  It  grows  dark " 

He  listened ;  he  heard  those  sighs  again,  then  suddenly 
the  sound  of  flying  feet,  hurrying,  hurrying;  with  a 
scream  of  horror  Visconti  rushed  up  the  steps,  calling 
wildly  for  lights. 

The  huge  door  swung  open  at  his  desperate  push,  then, 
falling  to  behind  him,  shook  the  tapestry;  as  it  fell  into 
place  again  a  long  sighing  filled  the  empty  room. 


CHAPTER   EIGHT 

FOR  A   LADY'S   GIFT 

XOMASO  LIGOZZI  sat  in  a  corner  of  the  ruined  hut, 
with  enthralled  face,  listening  to  Count  Conrad,  who 
lounged  against  the  wooden  table  opposite.  It  was  five 
days  since  Conrad's  rescue.  He  had  made  a  recovery  the 
more  rapid  that  no  leech  had  been  there  to  meddle  with 
him.  Left  to  the  simplest  nursing,  the  barest  needful 
nourishment,  and  the  vigor  of  his  own  constitution,  Con- 
rad had  rallied,  till  now,  in  almost  full  health,  no  trace 
was  left  of  the  hollow-faced,  emaciated  figure  Francisco 
had  carried  into  safety. 

The  morning  after  the  rescue,  it  was  decided  that  the 
hut  was  no  longer  a  safe  shelter;  and,  carefully  destroy- 
ing all  traces  of  their  habitation,  the  three,  under  Fran- 
cisco's leadership,  helping  Conrad  between  them,  betook 
themselves  to  a  thicket  near.  There,  in  his  solitary  prowl- 
ings  to  and  fro,  Francisco  had  discovered  a  deep  cave 
underneath  a  sand-bank,  the  entrance  well  overgrown 
with  boughs  and  bushes.  Here,  not  without  discomfort, 
they  hid  till  Conrad  should  be  fit  to  travel,  and  comforted 
themselves  for  the  wretched  exchange  when  they  heard 
the  shouts  of  Alberic's  men. 

Francisco  was  disappointed  in  his  new  ally.  Count  Con- 
rad showed  a  levity,  a  forgetfulness  of  injury,  that 
chimed  badly  with  his  own  deep  purposes.  Tomaso  was 
his  chief  reliance ;  his  plan  was  to  secure  horses,  by  fair 
means  or  foul,  and,  as  soon  as  Conrad  could  sit  the 
saddle,  to  depart  for  Ferrara.  So  far  Francisco's  stealthy 

75 


76  THE   VIPER  OF   MILAN 

and  cautious  maneuvers  to  possess  himself  of  what  he 
needed  had  been  unsuccessful;  but  at  last  he  had  come 
upon  the  track  of  something  possible,  and  to-day,  with 
Vittore  to  help  him,  he  had  departed  to  bring  back  with 
him  the  horses  for  their  flight. 

Twice  between  dawn  and  noon  had  Alberic's  men 
scoured  their  neighborhood.  Two,  indeed,  had  come  so 
near  the  hiding-place  that  their  talk  was  plain.  They 
spoke  of  the  parchment  found  the  day  before  and  of  the 
Visconti's  fury. 

It  seemed  fairly  sure  that  for  many  hours  at  least  the 
soldiery  would  not  return,  as  they  could  scarce  confine 
their  search  to  the  one  spot  only;  so,  before  Francisco's 
departure,  'twas  arranged  between  him  and  Tomaso  that 
their  rendezvous  at  sundown  should  be  the  ruined  hut 
where  they  had  first  had  shelter,  there  being  no  means 
of  horsemen  treading  the  thick  brushwood  around  the 
sand-cave,  and  the  hut  affording  opportunities  of  space 
and  movement. 

After  a  weary  day  and  the  second  visit  of  the  search 
party,  which  alarmed  them  as  to  the  heat  of  Visconti's 
pursuit,  but  reassured  them  also  as  to  returning  to  the 
hut,  Tomaso  and  Conrad  reached  it  an  hour  before  sun- 
down and  prepared  to  wait. 

At  first  keenly  anxious,  straining  for  every  sound,  as 
time  went  on,  unconsciously  they  grew  more  at  ease,  and 
Conrad  beguiled  Tomaso  with  his  talk. 

At  last,  with  a  sudden  sigh,  Conrad  broke  off,  and 
lapsed  into  silence.  Tomaso  sat  alert,  looking  through 
the  open  door. 

"  Francisco  is  long,"  said  Conrad  after  a  while. 

He  was  dressed  in  the  leather  doublet  of  a  peasant, 
coarse  and  plain,  yet  very  different  from  the  rough  attire 
Francisco  wore.  He  was  very  handsome,  of  a  sunny, 
pleasant  expression,  a  quality  rarely  found  among  the 


FOR   A   LADY'S    GIFT  77 

Italians  of  Lombardy;  and  to-day,  although  prepared 
for  flight,  his  blond  curls  were  as  carefully  arranged  as 
though  he  still  shone  at  the  court  of  Milan. 

"  Messer  Francisco  is  long,"  he  remarked  again,  and 
Tomaso  turned  with  a  start. 

"  He  has  doubtless  met  with  unexpected  difficulty, 
lord,"  he  said  with  some  reproach.  "  Horses  must  be 
found — somewhere — for  our  journey  to-night.  Every 
hour  we  stay  here  is  dangerous." 

"  My  heart  misgives  me  that  I  did  not  accompany 
him,"  said  Conrad;  "we  should  all  four  have  kept  to- 
gether." 

"  Doubtless  too  many  would  have  hampered  him,"  was 
the  reply. 

Tomaso  did  not  add,  as  he  might  have  done,  that  Fran- 
cisco had  his  doubts  of  Conrad's  discretion,  and  had  left 
Tomaso  charged  to  see  he  committed  no  rashness  in  his 
absence. 

"  Thinkest  thou  he  will  get  the  horses?  "  continued  the 
Count,  twirling  his  curls  through  his  fingers.  "  Let  us 
hope  he  will  try  naught  so  mad  as  that  attempt  on  the 
walls  of  Milan  we  made  two  days  ago!  The  saints  pre- 
serve us!  but  I  thought  it  was  all  over  with  us!  That  was 
a  fine  race — tearing  through  the  dark  with  Visconti's 
soldiers  at  our  heels!  " 

Tomaso  was  hurt  at  the  flippant  tone  that  reflected  on 
Francisco's  judgment. 

"  It  was  a  gallant  attempt,"  he  said,  "  and  all  but  suc- 
ceeded; once  within  the  town,  we  might  have  done 
much." 

"  And  so  might  Visconti,"  remarked  Conrad  airily. 
"  Thou  art  young,  Tomaso,  or  thou  wouldst  see  how 
worse  than  useless  was  such  a  mad  escapade." 

M  Something  had  to  be  done,"  returned  Tomaso,  "  this 
inaction  was  maddening  Messer  Francisco." 


78  THE   VIPER   OF   MILAN 

Conrad  smiled  and  changed  the  subject. 

"  Who  is  this  Francisco,  thinkest  thou  ? "  he  asked. 
"  For  a  mere  servitor  at  Delia  Scala's  court,  he  bears  a 
mighty  hatred  to  Visconti." 

He  served  the  Prince,  and  lost  his  master  and  his 
all  in  the  sack  of  Verona.  It  is  not  strange  he  should 
wish  to  revenge  Delia  Scala's  wrongs  and  his  own." 

"  I  think  him  of  better  birth  and  station  than  he 
claims,"  said  the  Count  judicially.  "  He  has  the  bearing 
of  one  gently  born." 

"  I  take  him  for  what  he  calls  himself,"  the  boy  replied. 
"  I  owe  him  my  life.  I  would  die  to  serve  him,  nor  would 
I  question  him." 

"  But  would  remind  me  that  I  owe  him  something 
too?  "  laughed  Conrad.  "  When  the  time  comes  to  show 
it,  I  shall  not  prove  ungrateful." 

He  seated  himself  on  the  table,  and  idly  swinging  his 
legs,  looked  around  the  hut  with  lazy  distaste  and  seemed 
to  think  of  dozing. 

"  Remember  we  travel  to-night,  my  lord,"  said  To- 
maso,  annoyed  at  such  indifference. 

"  If  our  good  friend  gets  the  horses." 

"  There  is  no  ■  if,'  unless  we  wish  to  perish,"  flashed 
Tomaso.  "  If  Francisco  gets  no  horses,  we  must  from 
here  on  foot." 

"  I  do  not  oppose  it.  Rather  than  be  taken  into  Milan, 
I  will  travel  on  foot  in  any  other  direction  till  I  drop," 
laughed  the  Count. 

"  Thou  takest  it  lightly,  my  lord,"  said  Tomaso,  "  thou 
dost  not  seem  as  eager  for  revenge  as  thou  wert.  Think 
of  the  death  Visconti  doomed  thee  to.  Thou  hast  great 
wrongs  to  right — wilt  thou  not  return  to  Milan  to  avenge 
them?  Or  wilt  thou  ride  away  and  forget?  " 

The  laugh  faded  from  Count  Conrad's  face,  and  his 
eyes  flashed. 


FOR   A   LADY'S   GIFT  79 

"  No,  Tomaso,  I  shall  not  forget,"  he  said;  "  too  well 
do  I  recall  that  night  when  I  crept  down  the  palace  steps 
with  my  Lady  Valentine.  Visconti  met  us;  parted  us; 
ah,  when  I  think  of  her  face ! — she  was  forced  back  to  the 
horror  of  her  life  again :  I,  carried  off  to  die  of  slow  starva- 
tion in  my  own  villa.  Yes,  yes;  if  his  wrongs  are  like 
mine,  Francisco  did  well  the  other  night  when  we  dashed 
on  Milan ;  such  wrongs  put  madness  into  one.  Think  of 
it,  Tomaso;  bound,  gagged,  half-crazed  at  the  misfor- 
tune, I  was  hurried  hither,  secretly,  at  night,  to  be  left 
to  a  dog's  death  in  my  own  villa.  Death  was  what  I  ex- 
pected, but  I  nerved  myself  to  meet  it  as  a  noble  should. 
There  is  a  long  low  room  in  yonder  villa,  with  narrow 
windows  I  could  scarce  get  my  hand  through — all  of 
stone,  and  meant  for  cool  in  summer  heat;  into  this  I  was 
forced,  unbound,  left  with  mock  ceremony,  and  the  door 
locked  upon  me.  Ah!  the  sound  of  that  key,  Tomaso; 
they  seemed  to  turn  it  in  my  heart,  for  I  guessed  its 
meaning.  I  had  heard  too  often  of  Visconti  letting  his 
prisoners  die  of  hunger,  and,  as  I  listened  to  the  soldiers' 
footsteps  fading  in  the  distance,  the  cold  horror  of  the 
truth  seized  my  heart.  At  first  it  seemed  impossible  that 
I  could  starve  in  my  own  dwelling.  I  mocked  my  fears;  I 
could  force,  I  could  break  the  window!  I  laugh  now  at 
my  own  absurdities.  I  could  do  neither,  I  could  do  noth- 
ing! Terrible  hours  followed,  Tomaso,  terrible  hours  and 
terrible  days.  Still  I  would  not  own  the  truth,  and  still, 
as  no  one  came,  I  knew  it  to  be  true!  I  thought  of  the 
Lady  Valentine,  and  wondered  what  her  fate  might  be. 
I  thought  of  Germany,  and  wept  to  think  I  should  never 
see  it  more!  Then  one  evening,  as  I  lay,  I  think,  half- 
senseless,  I  heard  the  key  turn  in  the  lock,  and  Visconti 
entered,  followed  by  Giannotto;  two  white  hounds  slunk 
at  his  heels:  well  I  remember.  Dear  Lord!  I  was  fallen 
so  low  in  my  misery,  I  fell  at  his  feet  and  begged  for 


8o  THE   VIPER   OF   MILAN 

mercy,  for  pity,  or  speedy  death!  And  he — smiled  on  me, 
and  bade  Giannotto  bring  food! 

"  I  cursed  myself  for  my  weakness,  but  could  have 
kissed  his  feet.  Then  what  happened  I  hardly  know.  As 
in  a  dream  I  saw  Giannotto  lay  a  tempting  feast;  a  ban- 
quet for  one  or  two,  such  as  I  and  Visconti  had  often 
shared  together!  I  blessed  him  with  uplifted  hands! 
When  all  was  set,  he  turned  to  me,  still  smiling. 

"  '  Thou  askedst  for  food,'  he  said ; '  I  would  not  refuse 
thy  last  request,  Count  Conrad.' 

"  And  he  flung  one  of  the  hounds  a  piece  of  meat :  it 
ate  and  died!  Without  a  word  they  turned  and  left  me, 
the  feast  still  spread,  the  dead  hound  by  the  table.  Then 
methinks  I  lost  my  wits,  and  went  mad  with  rage  and 
agony.  When  my  ravings  ceased,  I  found  myself,  my 
hands  upon  the  food,  it  almost  at  my  lips.  But  I  re- 
sisted; I  set  it  from  me;  and  then  my  eyes  wandered 
round  the  room  in  blank  despair.  I  saw — the  key  still 
in  the  lock!  I  thought  it  was  a  vision,  a  trick  of  Satan. 
I  crawled  toward  the  door:  I  dragged  myself  along.  It 
was  no  vision:  they  had  gone  and  left  me  free!  "  Con- 
rad paused;  Tomaso,  an  absorbed  listener,  drew  a  deep 
breath. 

"  What  did  it  mean,  lord?"  he  asked. 

"  Ask  me  not,  Tomaso,"  answered  Conrad  with  a 
lighter  air.  "  They  were  so  certain  I  should  eat  and  die, 
it  made  them  careless,  or  Giannotto  had  a  throb  of  pity. 
Many  kindnesses  the  knave  has  had  from  me.  I  know 
not  what  it  was;  such  things  will  happen.  I  have  heard 
of  them  when  in  my  native  land  from  prisoners  of  war. 
But  all  I  knew  and  cared  for  was  that  I  was  free !  At  first, 
indeed,  it  seemed  to  promise  little  good.  I  crept,  I  know 
not  how,  into  the  garden — into  the  air:  the. sky  was  over- 
head: it  gave  me  strength:  let  me  but  get  to  the  water 
and  I  would  live.  ...  As  by  a  miracle  I  reached  the 


FOR   A   LADY'S    GIFT  81 

fountain."  Again  Conrad  paused,  shuddering  at  remem- 
brance of  his  anguish. 

"The  fountain?"  repeated  Tomaso,  absorbed  in  the 
relation. 

"The  fountains  were  poisoned,  boy;  you  know  it;  it 
boots  not  talking  of  it;  it  is  all  past  and  done  with,  and 
I  live,  a  sound,  free  man,  thanks  to  our  brave  Veronese ; 
though  in  sooth  how  he  could  have  saved  me,  had  he  not 
been  a  giant,  I  leave  to  my  good  angel  to  think  out  ";  and 
Conrad  laughed. 

Tomaso  looked  surprised.  He  could  not  unnderstand 
how  Conrad  could  so  easily  shake  off  his  hatred  of  Vis- 
conti,  save  when  the  thought  was  forced  on  him. 

A  silence  fell  which  Conrad  was  again  the  first  to  break. 

"  The  Lady  Valentine,"  he  said,  following  his  own  train 
of  thought,  rather  than  addressing  his  companion,  "  does 
she  ever  think  of  me?" 

Tomaso  inwardly  wondered  how  much  he  thought  of 
her.  Save  when  telling  his  tale  to  Francisco,  this  was  the 
only  time  he  had  named  her.  It  seemed  as  if  his  suffer- 
ings and  his  love  alike  were  to  lie  lightly  on  his  mind. 

"  They  say  in  Milan  Lady  Valentine  is  to  marry  the 
Duke  of  Orleans,"  Tomaso  ventured  presently. 

"  They  say ! "  echoed  Conrad  with  scorn.  "  The 
Frenchman  is  not  even  yet  in  Italy.  Much  may  have  hap- 
pened ere  he  is." 

Tomaso  rose  and  looked  from  the  doorway  anxiously. 

"  It  is  close  on  sundown,"  he  said,  "  it  is  time  Fran- 
cisco came." 

"  It  is  intolerably  wearisome,"  yawned  Conrad.  "  I 
would  I  had  gone  with  our  friend — 'twould  have  been 
more  enlivening  than  this." 

Tomaso's  face  ill  concealed  his  scorn. 

"  'Tis  a  matter  of  life  and  death,  Count  Conrad;  even 
now  the  soldiers  may  at  any  time  return." 


82  THE   VIPER   OF   MILAN 

With  a  pleasant  smile  Von  Schulembourg  leaped  from 
the  table. 

"  Pardon  me,  if  I  vex  thee  with  my  seeming  careless- 
ness," he  said,  with  the  charm  of  manner  that  could  al- 
ways win  him  friends.  "  I  owe  too  large  a  debt  to  all  of 
you,  to  really  be  so  heedless  as  I  seem;  but  methinks 
there  is  no  single  thing " 

"  Save  keep  ourselves  in  readiness,  my  lord,"  said 
Tomaso.  "  Francisco  charged  us  to  be  so  disposed  that 
we  could  leap  into  the  saddle  without  a  breath's  delay." 

"  I  remember,"  said  Count  Conrad,  lapsing  again  into 
an  idle  mood.  "  Methinks  our  Veronese  deliverer  issues 
commands  as  if  well  used  to  it." 

The  youth  made  no  reply ;  he  was  gazing  eagerly  along 
the  chestnut-bordered  path,  sorely  impatient  for  Fran- 
cisco's return. 

"  Canst  thou  play  chess  ?  "  asked  Conrad  suddenly. 

Tomaso  looked  around  at  him  in  surprise.  Did  the 
German  noble  jest? 

Von  Schulembourg  was  again  seated  on  the  table,  ad- 
miring his  shapely  hand,  which  he  held  against  the  light. 

"Play  chess?"  repeated  Tomaso.  "No,  my  lord." 

Count  Conrad  crossed  his  legs  daintily  and  sighed. 

"  It  were  a  splendid  chance  to  teach  thee — had  we  but 
the  men.  Thou  hast  read  old  romance,  boy?  And  must 
remember  how  the  knights  and  ladies  play  at  chess? 
Tis  a  royal  game." 

He  sighed  again,  and  glanced  with  disdain  down  at  his 
leather  doublet. 

"  Yet  'twere  strange  to  play  chess  in  this  garb,"  he 
added,  and  kicked  the  table  with  his  heels  in  discontent. 

Silence  again  fell,  Tomaso  still  at  the  door,  unheeding 
of  the  Count's  complaints,  watching  anxiously  through 
the  gathering  dusk. 

"By    heaven,    boy!"    Conrad    exclaimed    suddenly. 


FOR   A   LADY'S    GIFT  83 

"  Till  this  moment  I  had  forgot  it.  Lady  Valentine's  gift 
— thinking  of  the  chessmen  brought  it  to  my  mind — I 
swore  never  to  leave  it — with  my  life!  And  'tis  behind 
me  in  the  villa." 

"Behind  thee,  lord?"  cried  Tomaso,  bewildered  and 
startled  at  his  excited  tones.  "Where?  What?" 

Conrad  was  on  his  feet,  his  eyes  sparkling  with  excite- 
ment. 

"  At  the  villa,"  he  cried.  "  I  know  where  it  is,  I  will 
go  and  fetch  it." 

"  My  lord,  consider  what  thou  say'st,"  and  Tomaso 
barred  the  door  with  outstretched  arms.  "  We  promised 
Francisco  we  would  not  leave  the  hut — to  attempt  the 
villa  would  be  simple  madness !  " 

"  Why,  boy,  the  villa  is  close  by,"  laughed  Conrad, 
"  and  Francisco  may  not  be  back  for  hours  most  like ;  he 
may  hang  back  till  dark.  Meanwhile  am  I  to  twirl  my 
thumbs  in  here,  and  Lady  Valentine's  love-gift  calling 
to  me  from  beyond  that  wall?  Out  of  my  way,  Tomaso. 
The  dagger  may  be  useful,  and  'tis  beautiful:  a  handle 
carved  out  of  a  single  stone.  Lady  Valentine  will  not  for- 
give my  losing  it!  " 

"  The  Lady  Valentine  will  forgive  the  loss  of  a  dagger, 
lord,  when  thou  help  to  rescue  her  from  Milan,"  he  said 
curtly.  "  But  what  use  to  seek  her  gift?  And  give  thy- 
self again  into  the  Visconti's  power?  " 

"Tush,  Visconti!  Visconti!  ...  I  have  heard  the 
name  enough,"  returned  Count  Conrad.  "  I  intend  to 
have  my  lady's  gift — it  suits  neither  my  honor  nor  my 
affection  to  leave  it  there  to  be  some  mercenary's  plunder; 
and  the  chessmen  too,  boy!  The  set  the  Emperor  gave — 
ah !  you  would  love  them — silver  and  ivory — I  will  bring 
them  too.  They  will  while  away  more  weary  hours  such 
as  these.  What  was  I  thinking  of  to  leave  them  there 
so  long! " 


84  THE   VIPER   OF   MILAN 

"  At  any  moment  Francisco  may  return,  and  without 
thee  here  time  will  be  lost;  moreover,  his  orders  were 
that  we  await  him." 

At  Tomaso's  words,  Conrad  raised  his  arched  eye- 
brows. 

"  Order?  To  thee,  maybe;  thou  art  a  boy,  and  of  hum- 
ble station.  I  am  Von  Schulembourg:  orders  scarcely 
tally  with  that  name." 

He  drew  his  mantle  over  his  despised  doublet,  and 
stepped  to  the  door,  putting  Tomaso  aside  and  unheed- 
ing his  entreaties. 

"  Calm  thyself,  I  shall  be  back  long  before  the  grim 
Veronese!"  he  said  airily.  "  Were  there  light  enough, 
there  would  be  time  to  learn  the  game  before  he  comes 
again." 

"  I  will  learn  from  no  one  who  so  little  knows  his  duty," 
cried  Tomaso  in  hot  wrath. 

But  it  was  as  impossible  to  anger  Conrad  as  to  stop 
him,  and  with  a  smile  on  his  lips  and  a  good-humored 
wave  of  his  hand,  he  was  gone. 

Gone,  absolutely  gone,  out  of  sight,  into  the  heart  of 
danger  and  at  the  crucial  moment,  for  a  set  of  chessmen 
and  for  a  lady's  love-gift. 

After  an  undecided  pause  of  utter  vexation,  Tomaso 
could  not  resist  the  impulse  to  start  in  pursuit  after  him. 
But  Count  Conrad  was  fleet  of  foot;  he  had  disappeared, 
and  Tomaso  dared  follow  no  farther,  for  Francisco  might 
return  at  any  moment,  and  to  find  them  both  gone  would 
make  bad  worse. 

And  scarcely  had  he  re-entered  the  hut  before  he  heard 
the  sound  of  horses  ridden  cautiously,  and  in  a  few  mo- 
ments more  Francisco  turned  into  the  open. 

He  was  mounted,  Vittore  in  front  of  him,  on  a  power- 
ful black  horse,  and  leading  two  others,  and  his  face  was 
animated  with  his  triumph. 


FOR   A   LADY'S   GIFT  85 

"  Thou  see'st,"  he  said,  "  we  are  well  provided,  though 
it  has  taken  me  all  day.  Now,  to  mount,  without  pause. 
Where  is  the  Count?  " 

"  The  Count,"  faltered  Tomaso,  half-crying  with  vexa- 
tion, "  the  Count " 

"  Well,  what  of  him?  "  said  Francisco,  pausing  keenly. 

"  He  has  gone  back  to  the  villa — to  fetch  something. 
Oh,  Messer  Francisco,  prevent  him  I  could  not — he  left 
but  now " 

"  Gone  back  to  the  villa!  "  cried  Francisco.  "  Did  he 
rave?  Is  he  in  his  senses?" 

Tomaso  wrung  his  hands. 

"  He  went  to  fetch  a  dagger  he  remembered  and  some 
chessmen." 

With  a  cry  of  rage  Francisco  flung  himself  from  his 
saddle.  "  Methinks  I  left  a  fool  to  guard  a  fool,"  he  said. 
"  Did  I  not  tell  thee  to  see  Count  Conrad  kept  from  folly? 
Our  lives  are  on  it !  " 

Tomaso  paled  at  his  displeasure,  and  faltered  out  a 
recital  of  what  had  happened,  but  Francisco  cut  him 
short. 

"  The  thing  has  happened,"  he  said  sternly,  "  and  may 
cost  us  dear,  but  mine  the  fault  to  trust  the  foreign  cox- 
comb." Never  had  the  two  boys  seen  him  so  moved,  and 
they  shrank  into  silence. 

Francisco  fumed  with  anger.  "  We  will  ride  without 
him,"  he  said  at  length;  but  even  while  he  bade  Tomaso 
mount,  and  saw  to  his  own  girths,  he  paused  irresolute, 
and  Tomaso  was  thankful.  He  did  not  like  to  think  of  the 
gay  Conrad  left  to  meet  his  fate  alone.  He  ventured  to 
speak. 

"  The  dagger  was  a  lady's  gift,"  he  said — "  the  Lady 
Valentine's.  He  could  not  bear  to  leave  it." 

"  He  will  have  been  wishing  that  he  had,"  said  Fran- 
cisco brusquely;  but  his  face  softened,  and  he  added  pres- 


86  THE   VIPER   OF   MILAN 

ently:  "  He  must  be  brought  back,  we  cannot  wait,  and 
'tis  too  dangerous  to  abandon  him — for  him  and  for  our- 
selves." 

He  flung  the  reins  to  Tomaso,  and  lifted  Vittore  to  the 
ground. 

"  Stretch  thy  legs  the  while,"  he  said. 

"  Shall  I  go,  messer?  "  asked  the  boy. 

"  He  will  come  quicker  at  my  bidding,"  said  Francisco 
grimly.  "  Keep  open  eyes,"  he  added,  "  the  soldiers  must 
come  by  the  road  if  come  again  they  do.  Hold  thither 
once  and  spy,  and  then  return  and  wait  us  here.  Tether 
the  horses  carefully  and  water  them.  They  cost  me 
something."  He  pointed  to  his  roughly  bandaged  arm. 

Half  wild  with  remorseful  vexation,  Tomaso  watched 
Francisco  go  the  way  the  Count  had  gone,  till  his  tall 
figure  was  lost  to  view.  Then  he  and  Vittore  surveyed 
each  other  with  anxious  eyes. 

"  Oh,  cousin !  "  cried  the  boy,  "  we  have  had  a  fearful 
day!" 

"Thou  wert  fortunate,"  returned  the  other  bitterly; 
"  Francisco  is  not  vexed  with  thee." 

But  Vittore,  full  of  his  tale,  was  eager  rather  for  a 
listener  than  to  himself  give  sympathy. 

"  Till  noon  we  found  nothing,"  he  said.  "  Francisco 
hung  around  the  farmhouses,  but  there  were  naught  but 
sorry  jades  in  every  stable  that  we  peered  into,  every 
one  we  tried,  Tomaso,  and  so  we  roamed  farther  and 
farther  across  the  plains " 

"  But  how  didst  thou  ever  get  such  steeds  as  these  ?  " 
asked  Tomaso,  looking  admiringly  at  the  splendid  ani- 
mals, well  groomed  and  well  fed,  fresh  and  vigorous. 

"  We  took  them,"  said  Vittore  proudly.  "  We  came 
upon  a  samp  of  soldiers  with  horses  and  to  spare,  and 
Francisco  asked  them  would  they  trade  with  him,  and  of- 
fered money,  but  they  jeered  and  shouted  and  drove  us 


FOR   A   LADY'S    GIFT  87 

off.  Then  Francisco  stood  before  me  while  I  crept  up  to 
those  three  and  loosened  their  halters.  The  soldiers 
drank  and  sang;  some  lay  and  snored;  they  thought  that 
we  were  gone,  then  suddenly — "  his  voice  sinking  with 
excitement. 

"  What  happened?  "  asked  Tomaso  with  interest.  "  I 
am  glad  that  thou  show'st  thyself  a  brave  lad,  Vittore; 
what  happened?" 

"  They  saw  us ;  three  of  them  rushed  out;  there  was  a 
fight,  and  Francisco  won." 

"  Won?  Against  three?  "  cried  Tomaso. 

"  He  scattered  them  like  the  wind,"  said  Vittore.  "  I 
know  not  how.  He  is  a  giant.  He  flung  me  on  this  black 
horse  here ;  he  mounted,  I  had  the  halters  of  the  others  in 
my  hand.  We  rushed  away.  Of  one  he  broke  the  head,  I 
think,  with  his  thick  staff,  and  had  his  arm  hit  hard,  but 
'tis  not  hurt,  he  says.  Some  followed  awhile,  but  they 
drank  too  deep;  we  left  them  like  men  dazed  and  mad, 
some  falling  by  the  road.  It  was  a  great  business,  cousin, 
but  I  felt  no  fear;  Francisco  is  a  brave,  brave  man." 

"  He  is  a  leader  of  men,  methinks,"  said  Tomaso 
gravely.  "  I  little  doubt  the  Count  is  right;  he  is  more 
than  he  appears.  Now  we  will  leave  the  horses  here  be- 
hind these  chestnuts,  and  step  toward  the  road  and 
reconnoiter." 


CHAPTER   NINE 

THE   RETURN   OF  THE   DEAD 

GRIPPING  Vittore 's  hand,  Tomaso  looked  cautiously 
up  and  down  the  road. 

Crouching  back  in  among  the  wayside  trees,  they  com- 
manded unseen  a  view  of  any  who  might  come  or  go; 
and  though  the  days  faded  fast,  it  was  still  light  enough 
to  see  many  paces  off. 

"  No  soldiery  about  to-night,"  whispered  Tomaso ; 
"  they  have  ridden  farther  afield.  We  will  go  back, 
Vittore." 

They  had  turned  to  retrace  their  steps  when  Vittore 
clutched  his  cousin's  hand  yet  tighter,  and  suppressed  an 
exclamation. 

"  Look!  "  he  whispered,  "  a  horseman  coming  toward 
Milan." 

Tomaso  looked  round  nervously,  and  saw  a  single  rider 
approaching  swiftly,  but  casting  searching  glances 
around. 

As  the  boys  watched,  mistrustfully  waiting,  still  in 
hiding,  to  see  him  safely  pass,  to  their  dismay  he  slack- 
ened pace,  and  finally  drew  rein  altogether  and  looked 
eagerly  in  their  direction. 

"  Not  a  movement,"  breathed  Tomaso,  and  Vittore 
crouched  in  silent  fright. 

None  the  less,  motionless  as  they  thought  themselves, 
some  slight  movement  betrayed  them,  for  the  rider  dis- 
mounted, advanced  toward  their  hiding-place,  and  softly 
spoke. 

"  Who  is  there?  I  am  a  friend,"  he  said. 
88 


THE   RETURN   OF   THE   DEAD  89 

"He  is  a  Florentine,"  whispered  Vittore  joyfully;  but 
Tomaso  leaned  against  the  tree  in  silence,  and  even 
through  the  gathering  dusk,  as  the  younger  boy  looked 
up,  he  saw  that  he  was  pale  and  trembling. 

"  Canst  thou  direct  me?  "  said  the  stranger.  "  I  can 
pay  thee  for  thy  services." 

"Answer  him,  Tomaso,"  Vittore  whispered  eagerly; 
"  he  is  a  Florentine,  he  will  not  hurt  us." 

Tomaso  made  a  step  forward.  "  It  is  some  one  we 
know,"  he  said  chokingly,  "  or  my  brain  is  playing  me 
strange  tricks." 

As  he  spoke,  he  put  aside  the  branches  that  hid  them, 
and  stepped  forward.  The  stranger  had  guessed  their 
hiding-place  unerringly;  he  stood  close  by,  his  horse's 
bridle  across  his  arm.  He  was  a  slight,  roughly-dressed, 
but  well-formed  man  of  middle  age,  light  in  color  and  of 
strong  yet  delicate  features. 

"Thou  needst  not  fear  me,"  he  began  with  a  smile; 
then,  as  the  two  figures  drew  nearer,  he  paused,  and  in 
his  turn  grew  pale  and  trembled. 

Tomaso,  tossing  his  hair  back  from  his  face,  with 
parted  lips,  stepped  close,  followed  by  Vittore. 

"  Father!  Thou  dost  not  know  me!  " 

"Son!  Tomaso!"  cried  the  traveler.  He  seized  him 
by  the  shoulders  with  trembling  hands,  and  scanned 
eagerly  his  face. 

"Tomaso!"  and  his  voice  was  shrill  with  feeling, 
"Tomaso  at  last!" 

They  had  not  met  for  many  months  and  years — two  at 
least ;  the  father,  absent  at  a  distant  court,  serving  where 
chance  had  led  him,  for  fame  and  fortune;  the  son,  grow- 
ing from  boyhood  into  man  in  distant  Florence. 

Since  Verona  fell,  Tomaso  had  mourned  his  father  as 
dead,  and  he,  in  his  turn,  had  wandered  far,  searching  for 
the  pair  who  had  started  out  to  find  him. 


9o  THE   VIPER   OF   MILAN 

With  stifled  sobs  of  joy,  Tomaso  clung  about  his 
father's  neck,  and  was  clasped  to  him  in  frenzied  pleasure. 

"They  said  thou  wert  dead,  father!"  broke  out  the 
youth  at  last.  "  I  never  thought  to  see  thy  face  again." 

"  I  thought  the  same  of  thee,  my  son,"  returned 
Ligozzi  tenderly.  "  I  have  been  searching  for  traces  of 
thee  long  and  wearily.  I  thought  thou  must  have  perished 
on  thy  long  journey,  having  found  out  Verona  had  fallen. 
But  is  this  Vittore?  "  He  drew  to  him  paternally  the  boy 
who,  so  far,  had  watched  the  scene  with  wide-eyed  cu- 
riosity. 

"  And  now,  what  art  thou  doing — and  where  staying?  " 

As  if  he  feared  to  lose  him,  Tomaso  held  his  father 
tightly  by  the  sleeve,  over  which  the  bridle  had  been 
slipped,  and  Vittore  clinging  to  the  other  hand,  they 
drew  him  forward  between  them  to  the  place  from  which 
they  had  come. 

"  I  am  glad  thou  art  not  dead,"  said  Vittore ;  "  To- 
maso grieved  for  thee  sorely,  and  so  did  I." 

Tomaso  laughed  happily.  "  Grieve!  Aye,  did  we!  But 
now  we  can  rejoice." 

"But  why  this  haste?"  Ligozzi  asked,  "where  dost 
thou  hurry  me  ?  " 

"  Back,  father,  whence  we  came,  for  I  was  left  in  trust. 
It  is  a  path  thy  horse  can  follow,  and  I  will  tell  thee  what 
has  happened  as  we  go." 

Ligozzi  followed  without  further  question,  too  full  of 
joy  for  speech,  and  taking  so  much  pleasure  in  that  it 
was  his  son  who  spoke  as  for  the  moment  not  to  heed 
too  keenly  what  he  said. 

But  when  Tomaso,  beginning,  boy-fashion,  with  the 
last,  and  not  the  first,  came  to  mention  of  the  Visconti's 
blow,  Ligozzi  roused  to  fury. 

"  Methought  I  saw  a  scar  across  thy  face,"  he  said, 
"  yet  in  this  light  I  could  not  see  too  well.  It  is  only  one 


THE    RETURN    OF    THE   DEAD  91 

more  wrong  to  set  against  the  Visconti's  name,  one  deed 
the  more  to  be  avenged." 

Tomaso  took  the  clenched  hand  and  covered  it  with 
kisses. 

"  I  can  forgive  him  now,"  he  said, "  since  thou  were  not 
slain  when  Verona  fell." 

u  Twas  no  fault  of  the  Visconti's  that  any  living  soul 
escaped,"  returned  his  father.  "  Still,  go  on  with  thy  tale, 
Tomaso;  who  is  this  Francisco,  that  thou  nam'st  so  oft?  " 

Tomaso,  eager  and  suddenly  light  of  heart,  told  all  he 
knew,  and  ere  his  recital  ended  they  had  reached  the 
open,  and  found  everything  as  they  had  left  it.  The  horses 
safe,  nothing  seemingly  disturbed. 

"  Francisco  will  be  pleased  at  a  helper  such  as  thou, 
father,"  said  Tomaso  proudly;  "thou  wilt  be  of  more 
service  in  his  venture  than  the  German  Count." 

"  And  when  this  Francisco  returns  presently,  the  plan 
is  that  we  set  forth  at  once  for  Ferrara  ?  "  asked  Ligozzi. 

"And  meanwhile  rest,  father,  and  I  will  bring  thee 
food.  We  have  already  eaten." 

"I,  too,  my  son,"  answered  Ligozzi;  but  he  seated 
himself  on  one  of  the  rough  wooden  stools  and  watched 
Tomaso  affectionately,  as  he  brought  the  poor  horn  lan- 
tern from  the  wall.  He  lit  and  set  it  on  the  table,  where 
it  cast  a  straggling  and  wretched  light. 

*'  Francisco  is  surely  overlong,"  he  said ;  "  suppose 
the  soldiers  think  to  search  again  on  their  way  home  from 
some  outlying  district?  " 

"  Then  there  will  be  another  fight,"  said  Vittore,  "  but 
Francisco  will  get  the  best  of  it." 

Ligozzi  laughed. 

"  I  owe  this  Francisco  much,"  he  said;  "  he  must  be  a 
brave  man,  an  his  care  saved  you  both.  From  Verona, 
didst  thou  say?" 

"  From  Verona,  father.  He  said  he  knew  thee,  thy 


92  THE   VIPER   OF   MILAN 

name;  he  is  di  Coldra;  he  knew  thee,  he  has  said,  and  the 
Delia  Scala  also! " 

At  Delia  Scala's  name  Ligozzi's  eyes  filled  with  tears, 
and  his  voice  trembled  when  he  spoke. 

"  /  at  least  knew  Delia  Scala  well,"  he  said,  "  and 
loved  him  too."  He  paused.  "  Next  to  thee,  Tomaso," 
he  continued  sadly,  "  his  memory  has  filled  my  heart 
during  these  weary  weeks.  I  hoped,  hope  against  hope, 
he  might  have  escaped  even  as  I  did,  but  there  comes  no 
sign  he  lives." 

"  Then  thou  didst  not  see  him  perish?  "  asked  Tomaso 
softly. 

"  On  that  fearful  night  on  which  Verona  fell,"  answered 
Ligozzi,  "  Delia  Scala  himself  defended  the  gates,  fight- 
ing like  a  lion.  But  he  was  betrayed,  Tomaso,  by  a 
dastard  in  his  pay,  and  the  Visconti's  soldiers  poured  in 
through  the  breach,  secretly,  and  seized  the  palace,  the 
Duke  unwitting  till  it  was  too  late  and  the  palace  flam- 
ing. I  had  to  carry  him  the  news;  may  I  never  have  to 
do  the  like  again.  The  palace  was  a  sheet  of  fire,  the 
Duchess  was  within,  and  the  Visconti's  soldiers  swarm- 
ing. The  Prince  rushed  like  a  madman  through  the 
streets,  a  little  group  of  us  behind  him.  Too  late!  The 
Duchess  was  too  great  a  prize,  the  miscreants  had  lost 
no  time,  and  she  was  gone.  A  tale  had  reached  the  Duke 
while  he  still  struck  about  him  frantically  that  Gian  Vis- 
conti  himself  had  led  the  onset,  and  was  still  within  the 
precincts  with  his  prisoner.  But  it  was  a  trap,  Tomaso, 
set  by  a  traitor.  Delia  Scala,  rushing  where  the  pikeman 
pointed,  was  led  beneath  a  burning  stairway.  It  crashed 
in.  I  was  behind  the  Duke;  a  beam  struck  me  down,  I 
thought  among  the  dead,  but  some  friars  found  me  and 
brought  me  back  to  life;  of  Delia  Scala  they  knew  noth- 
ing." He  paused,  and  hid  his  eyes  a  moment  in  his 
hands. 


THE   RETURN   OF   THE   DEAD  93 

"  Thou  didst  care  greatly?  "  said  Tomaso,  after  a  pain- 
ful silence. 

"  He  was  a  noble  prince,"  replied  his  father.  "  I  owe 
him  everything;  he  made  a  friend  of  me,  and  I  ever  found 
him  brave  and  generous,  as  strong  as  gentle,  and  most 
honorable — and  he  loved  the  Duchess,  aye,  he  loved  her. 
The  Duchess  still  lives,  a  prisoner  in  Milan,  but  Delia 
Scala " 

He  sighed  deeply,  and  rose  as  if  to  put  from  him  the 
memory  of  the  tragedy. 

"  But  to  return  to  thy  deliverer,"  he  said,  "  one  Fran- 
cisco di  Coldra,  thou  say'st;  he  claims  I  know  him.  What 
manner  of  a  man  is  he  ?  " 

As  he  spoke  he  moved  with  Tomaso  to  the  door,  and 
looked  out  into  the  dark.  What  kept  Francisco  and  the 
Count? 

u  He  is  tall  and  strong,"  replied  Tomaso,  "  with  thick 
brown  hair  and  heavy  eyes ;  a  handsome  face,  I  think  it, 
father,  stern  and  sad.  He  is  worn — as  if  from  sickness. 
The  Count  thinks  him  better  than  he  gives  out ;  I  know 
not." 

Ligozzi  was  silent;  his  figure  alone  was  visible. 

"  Seeing  the  case  is  as  thou  say'st,  Tomaso,"  he  re- 
marked at  last,  "  every  moment  of  delay  is  dangerous, 
and  thy  friend  is  long." 

Tomaso  stepped  into  the  open,  and,  to  ease  his  impa- 
tience, brought  forward  the  horses. 

"  I  think  they  come,"  he  cried  joyfully  in  another  mo- 
ment. "  It  seems  a  dream,  father,  that  thou  shouldst  be 
here  to  meet  Francisco." 

Ligozzi  was  still  strangely  silent.  He  drew  back  within 
the  doorway.  Hurried  footsteps  were  heard,  the  crack- 
ling of  fallen  boughs,  the  swish  of  the  flowering  grass. 
Ligozzi  saw  a  tall  figure  looming  toward  them  through 
the  dusk,  a  slighter  one  beside  him. 


94  THE   VIPER   OF   MILAN 

Tomaso,  from  where  he  stood,  eager  and  excited  by 
the  horses,  cried  out  to  them.  Ligozzi,  still  farther  back, 
bent  down  to  Vittore,  who  stood  beside  him;  seen  by 
the  dim  light  of  the  horn  lantern,  his  face  was  strangely 
agitated. 

"  Has  this  Francisco  half-closed  eyes,  and  a  ready, 
pleasant  smile?  "  he  asked. 

Vittore  looked  up  in  surprise. 

"  He  has  such  eyes,"  he  answered.  "  I  have  not  ever 
seen  him  smile  like  that.  Thou  didst  know  him  then,  my 
uncle?" 

"  Yes,"  Ligozzi  answered  brokenly.  "  I  think — I  re- 
member him — at  Delia  Scala's  court." 

But  here  Tomaso,  calling  on  him,  re-entered  the  hut, 
followed  by  Francisco,  whose  stately  presence  seemed  to 
make  the  mean  place  smaller  still. 

"  My  father,"  said  the  boy  joyfully;  "  my  father,  saved 
from  the  taking  of  Verona,  and  come  a  long  way  in 
search  of  us! " 

Francisco  fell  back,  uttering  a  stifled  exclamation ;  the 
anger  cleared  from  his  brow.  He  looked  keenly  at  the 
figure  in  the  shadow. 

"Ligozzi!"  he  exclaimed,  with  shining  eyes.  "Li- 
gozzi lives ! " 

"  It  was  a  miracle,  was  it  not?  "  said  Tomaso  eagerly. 
"  He  has  come  to  join  us.  He  owes  thee  thanks,  Messer 
Francisco,  as  do  we." 

And  all  this  time  his  father  had  not  spoken.  Tomaso 
wondered  at  it,  and  now,  when  Ligozzi  came  forward 
shrinkingly,  Francisco  raised  his  hand  as  if  to  keep  him 
back,  or  warn  him,  or  restrain. 

"  No  thanks  are  needed,"  he  said  quickly.  "  I  am  Fran- 
cisco di  Coldra,  from  Verona,  and  ever  ready  to  serve 
those  whom  Visconti  hates!  " 

Ligozzi  stood  bare-headed,  as  if  dazed. 


THE   RETURN   OF   THE   DEAD  95 

Francisco  spoke  again,  with  meaning.  u  Thy  travel 
hath  confused  thee,  sir,"  he  said;  "  thou  thinkest  thou  art 
still  at  the  Duke  of  Verona's  court,  that  thou  standest 
thus  humble?" 

At  this,  Ligozzi  roused  himself.  "  Tomaso  has  told 
me — "  he  began.  But  again  Francisco  stopped  him. 

"  We  must  to  horse !  "  he  cried.  "  To  horse !  Too  much 
time  has  already  been  shamelessly  wasted,"  and  he  strode 
out,  motioning  to  them  to  follow. 

By  the  horses  stood  Conrad  Sigismund,  bringing  them 
one  by  one  under  review,  in  the  scanty  gleam  of  light 
afforded  by  the  lantern,  and  that  flickered  upon  them 
through  the  space  that  answered  for  a  window. 

"A  roan!"  he  cried  gaily,  "I  ever  loved  a  roan 
charger.  I  will  have  this  one,  Francisco."  He  spoke 
airily,  as  if  ten  minutes  since  Francisco  had  not  lashed 
him  with  his  tongue,  and  threatened  him  even  with  death, 
should  his  foolhardiness  endanger  them  again. 

"  Thou  wilt  ride  the  black,"  said  Francisco  coldly. 

"  Because  I  love  the  roan  ?  "  asked  the  other  with  a 
laugh. 

"  Because  I  say  so,"  returned  Francisco. 

A  mocking  answer  rose  to  Conrad's  lips,  but  it  was 
never  spoken.  With  a  gesture,  Francisco  motioned  him 
to  silence.  He  turned  and  listened. 

"  Horses!  And  coming  hither!  "  he  said.  "  Soldiers!  " 

The  others,  grouped  close  by,  ready  to  mount,  stopped 
paralyzed — yes,  Francisco's  ears  had  caught  the  sound 
aright,  the  tramp  of  horsemen,  and  coming  upon  them 
from  the  road. 

Escape  with  horses  any  other  way  there  was  none, 
though  Conrad  madly  urged  they  should  mount  and  fly. 

But  Francisco  turned  on  him  threateningly. 

H  Am  I  to  run  thee  through?  "  he  said;  "  these  horses 
mean  more  to  me  than  thy  life,  or  my  own.  Where  shall 


96  THE   VIPER   OF   MILAN 

we  ride?  Into  the  water?  No,  go  back  into  the  hut." 
He  turned  to  Ligozzi.  "  Aid  me  tether  these  beasts 
where  they  may  be  unnoticed.  These  men  perchance  are 
only  riding  through." 

It  was  done  in  silence  and  with  expedition.  The  sol- 
diers' voices  were  now  plain,  and  the  jangle  of  their 
arms. 

"  Come,  Ligozzi,"  said  Francisco,  "  thou  and  I  will  play 
at  being  soldiers,  and  see  how  we  can  overcome  Vis- 
conti's  men.  'Tis  a  game  that  thou  and  I  have  played 
before." 

He  drew  his  dagger  as  he  spoke,  and  stepped  back 
with  Ligozzi  into  the  hut.  The  door  was  closed.  Fran- 
cisco glanced  around.  By  the  table  stood  Conrad,  show- 
ing even  at  that  moment  the  silver  and  ivory  chessmen, 
which  he  slipped  out  of  his  doublet  one  at  a  time,  and 
passed  them  before  Vittore's  now  wandering,  now  fas- 
cinated gaze. 

Ligozzi  and  Tomaso  stood  beside  their  leader,  one 
either  hand.  Tomaso's  face  was  white;  the  Visconti's 
scar  showed  plainly;  his  breast  throbbed  with  excitement. 
Ligozzi's  gaze  was  riveted  upon  Francisco. 

A  sudden  babble  of  voices  outside  told  the  soldiers 
were  in  the  open.  A  voice  cried:  "  Halt!  " 

But  ere  this  Francisco  had  put  out  the  light.  They 
stood  in  darkness. 

"  I  know  that  voice,"  said  Francisco  at  Ligozzi's  ear; 
"  Alberic  da  Salluzzo.  When  last  I  heard  it  'twas  in  Ve- 
rona, at  the  burning  of  the  palace.  Dost  remember?  " 

Ligozzi  nodded.  They  held  their  daggers  ready.  No 
one  stirred.  Count  Conrad  thrust  his  chessmen  back  into 
his  doublet.  He  regretted  Francisco  had  dragged  him  so 
furiously  away  before  he  had  time  to  find  Lady  Valen- 
tine's dagger  with  the  emerald.  It  could  have  been  of 
service  now. 


THE   RETURN   OF   THE   DEAD  97 

There  was  a  lull  outside.  The  soldiers  had  dismounted, 
but  the  captain  kept  his  seat.  The  horses  champed,  threw 
up  their  heads,  and  clanked  their  trappings;  but  as  he 
talked  with  the  men  told  off  to  hold  them  Alberic's  swag- 
gering tones  were  plainly  audible. 

Suddenly  a  shout  arose. 

"  They  have  found  the  horses,"  said  Francisco. 

Alberic  flung  himself  from  the  saddle.  They  could  hear 
that.  Torchlight  suddenly  flared  across  the  opening,  high 
up  in  the  wall,  and  more  faintly  through  the  broken  roof. 
There  was  a  sudden  blow  upon  the  door  Francisco's 
giant  frame  was  barricading. 

"  Who  is  within  here?  "  cried  a  harsh  voice.  "  Open!  " 
and  there  came  another  blow. 

But  it  scarce  had  fallen  before  Francisco,  so  swiftly 
no  one  could  foresee  his  intention,  stepped  aside  and  let 
the  door  fly  open  as  if  the  blow  had  forced  it.  On  the 
threshold  stood  Alberic  da  Salluzzo,  resplendent  in  jew- 
eled armor  and  waving  plumes.  In  the  smoking  torch- 
light, badly  held,  it  seemed  as  if  the  place  he  looked  into 
were  empty. 

"  Who  harbors  here  ?  "  he  said,  and  stepped  across  the 
threshold.  "  Bring  thy  torch  here,  Gilliamo." 

But  Francisco  was  swift.  The  door  was  shut  before  the 
soldier  heard,  and  Francisco  set  once  more  his  giant 
frame  against  it.  In  an  instant,  by  the  breathing  of  the 
men  near  him,  da  Salluzzo  knew  he  had  been  trapped. 
He  turned  to  escape,  he  was  about  to  call,  but  a  hand  of 
iron  closed  round  his  throat.  In  the  dim  light  the  place 
seemed  full  of  threatening  forms. 

He  was  trapped  indeed !  Half-strangling,  he  ground  his  , 
teeth  at  his  folly  more  than  his  plight,  and  struggled  to 
get  his  dagger,  but  his  hands  were  caught. 

In  vain  he  struggled;  he  was  a  powerful  man,  but  he 
who  held  him  was  more  powerful.  In  vain  he  tried  to  cry 


98  THE   VIPER   OF   MILAN 

aloud  to  those  without;  his  voice  was  gripped  within  his 
throat.  Slowly  but  irresistibly  he  was  forced  back  against 
the  farther  wall,  with  a  strength  he  thought  could  not  be 
man's. 

In  a  moment  more,  the  soldiers  without,  nonplussed, 
but  only  for  an  instant,  by  their  captain's  disappearance, 
broke  in  the  door.  They  could  scarce  believe  their  senses. 
Da  Salluzzo  lay  dead  upon  the  floor,  and  over  him  there 
towered  a  tall  figure.  They  saw  naught  else.  These  men 
had  fought  with  Alberic  at  the  sacking  of  Verona;  they 
knew  that  form,  they  had  seen  that  face  before.  By  their 
torches'  smoky  glare  it  seemed  unearthly,  and  the  eyes 
to  flame,  the  form  to  fill  the  hut. 

"  Come  and  fetch  thy  captain ! "  cried  Francisco.  But 
at  the  voice,  at  the  look  of  his  wild  face  as  he  advanced, 
they  dropped  their  torches  and  scrambled  back  across  the 
threshold  panic-struck. 

"  Mastino  della  Scala!"  they  cried,  "  Mastino  della 
Scala ! "  and  dropping  the  lights  they  fled  in  terror. 


CHAPTER   TEN 


THE   TURQUOISE   GLOVES 


DELLASCALA  is  alive! 

The  news  flew  like  fire  around  Milan,  rousing  even  the 
indifferent  to  some  interest.  The  rumors  then  were  true? 
Delia  Scala  was  alive  ?  In  the  market-place,  in  the  streets, 
in  the  houses  it  was  discussed — the  name  of  Delia  Scala 
was  on  every  lip.  But  in  the  Visconti  palace  it  was  not 
spoken.  Silent,  somber  as  ever,  the  castle  frowned  over 
its  beautiful  gardens,  and,  only  by  the  companies  of  horse 
that  spurred  out  of  its  side  gates  to  fortify  still  more 
strongly  the  nine  cities  once  held  by  Delia  Scala  and  now 
the  Visconti's,  only  by  this  could  it  be  told  how  much 
the  news  meant  to  the  man  within. 

Giannotto,  walking  softly  through  the  corridors, 
paused  and  looked  out  into  the  garden. 

Something  had  caught  his  keen  eye,  and  he  watched, 
hidden  by  the  curtain  of  purple  silk. 

A  sea  of  flowers  lay  spread  beneath  him,  while  beyond 
a  more  formal  part  of  the  grounds,  crowned  with  white 
terraces  and  set  with  cypress-trees,  rose  clear  against  the 
sapphire  sky.  To  the  right  lay  Isotta  d'Este's  prison,  the 
western  tower,  a  massive  building  of  huge  strength, 
encircled  on  three  sides  with  a  moat,  and  guarded  by 
soldiers. 

Giannotto's  eyes  glanced  from  the  silver  banner  that 
hung  above,  lifeless  in  the  summer  air,  to  the  soldiers  at 
their  posts  below. 

There  was  an  entrance  to  the  tower  near  to  the  palace, 

99 


ioo  THE   VIPER   OF   MILAN 

guarded,  but  little  used,  half-hidden  by  myrtle  that  had 
filled  up  the  dried  moat  and  climbed  up  the  wall;  and, 
as  Giannotto  still  watched,  the  figure  he  had  seen  enter 
there,  hooded  and  cloaked,  passed  out  again  hurriedly, 
sped  between  the  sentries,  who  studiously  took  no  heed, 
and  was  soon  lost  to  sight  along  the  winding  paths. 

The  movement  was  quick,  the  figure  gone  almost  as 
soon  as  noticed;  a  casual  observer  would  have  taken 
little  heed,  but  Giannotto's  eyes  were  trained,  and  he 
knew  the  figure  for  whose  it  was :  Valentine  Visconti. 

"  She  must  have  bribed  high,"  he  thought.  "  High 
indeed.  Why  should  she  visit  the  prison  of  Isotta 
d'Este  ?  "  He  followed  her  figure  across  the  garden  with 
curious,  suspicious  thoughts. 

"  She  is  daring,"  he  mused,  "  and  foolish.  Did  she 
think  no  one's  eyes  could  be  on  her,  when  Visconti  has 
spies  who  are  to  watch  her  every  movement  ?  " 

He  turned  back  into  the  corridor,  twisting  the  ends 
of  his  scarlet  robe  between  his  fingers,  and  smiling  to 
himself. 

The  secretary  was  in  a  better  humor  than  his  master ; 
that  Mastino  della  Scala  should  live  to  vex  Visconti, 
that  he  should  have  snatched  von  Schulembourg,  one  of 
his  dearest  victims,  back  from  underneath  his  very  hand, 
pleased  Giannotto,  as  did  anything  that  annoyed  Vis- 
conti, save  when  his  master's  rage  was  such  that  his  sec- 
retary felt  its  working.  The  Duke  he  knew  to  be  alone. 
The  brief  audience  he  accorded  was  long  over.  Visconti 
had  no  friends ;  they,  who  must,  sought  him  in  the  morn- 
ing in  the  audience-room.  For  the  rest,  like  the  others 
of  his  tainted  race,  he  lived  alone. 

He  paused  outside  Visconti 's  door,  and  the  secretary 
smoothed  a  smile  from  his  face,  and,  tapping  slightly, 
entered  with  a  silent,  cringing  movement. 

The  chamber  was  dark,  although  it  was  full  noonday. 


THE   TURQUOISE   GLOVES  ioi 

Visconti  had  no  love  for  the  sunlight,  and  even  the 
narrow  windows  were  obscured  and  shrouded  in  dark 
purple. 

The  walls  were  paneled  in  carved  wood,  but,  apart 
from  the  stiff  chairs,  the  sole  furniture  of  the  apartment 
was  a  long  low  chest,  set  open,  and  showing  silver 
goblets  and  curious  bottles  and  glasses  twisted  into 
strange  shapes,  and  colored.  At  the  farther  end  were 
two  doors  close  together,  and  between  them  sat  Vis- 
conti, huddled  up  against  the  wall,  gazing  at  the  floor 
with  strained,  wide-open  eyes. 

Giannotto,  entering  softly,  noticed  in  his  hand  a  brace- 
let, fashioned  as  a  snake,  emerald  green,  of  striking 
workmanship. 

"  A  messenger  from  the  Bologna  embassy,  my  lord," 
he  said,  closing  the  door  behind  him,  "  has  entreated  me 
to  ask  thy  attention  to  them." 

Visconti  looked  up  quickly,  and  put  out  of  sight  the 
bracelet  with  a  snap  of  anger. 

"  What,  do  the  Bolognese  trouble  me  ? "  he  said 
fiercely. 

"  They  only  follow  the  example  of  the  Pavians,  my 
lord,"  returned  the  secretary  smoothly.  "  They  would 
have  thy  mediation  between  the  rival  factions  in  their 
state." 

"  My  mediation !  Pavia  asked  it,  as  thou  say'st,  and  so 
did  Bergamo ;  yet  do  the  twain  who  then  appealed  to  me 
reign  in  either  city  now?  The  Bolognese  are  foolish," 
said  Visconti. 

Giannotto  shrugged  his  shoulders.  "  That  need  not 
trouble  thee,  my  lord.  Bologna  is  a  wealthy  town.  Thy 
lordship  will  think  of  it?" 

The  secretary's  eyes  were  on  the  ground.  Gian  Gale- 
azzo  slipped  his  bracelet  into  his  doublet  and  rose. 

"Aye,    I    will   think   of  it,"   he   said,    "but    for   the 


102  THE   VIPER   OF   MILAN 

moment  there  are  more  precious  things  to  do  even  than 
using  the  Bolognese  against  themselves." 

Giannotto  waited.  The  Duke  paced  to  and  fro  a  mo- 
ment, then  broke  into  the  subject  next  his  heart. 

"  Thinkest  thou  Delia  Scala  will  outwit  me  ? "  he 
said  eagerly.  "  Thinkest  thou  that  if  he  do  reach  Fer- 
rara  he  will  rouse  the  Estes  to  action  ?  " 

"  He  had  two  good  hours'  start,"  returned  Giannotto, 
"  and  the  road  to  Ferrara  offers  many  chances." 

"  And  those  men — who  let  them  escape  them  ?  Do  they 
still  live?" 

"  Aye,  my  lord.  They  are  valuable.  It  is  enough  that 
Alberic  da  Salluzzo  has  been  lost  to  us " 

"  They  shall  yet  hang  for  it,"  said  Visconti. 

With  rapid  steps  he  returned  to  his  seat,  flung  him- 
self into  it,  clutching  the  arms  with  vice-like  grip. 

"  He  cannot  do  anything,  Giannotto,"  he  said.  "  He 
cannot  rouse  the  Estes — against  me!  No;  when  Delia 
Scala  ruled  nine  cities,  and  his  revenue  was  equaled  only 
by  the  kings  of  France — I  stripped  him,  I  routed  him. 
And  now !  "  he  smiled  and  his  eyes  widened,  "  he  is  a 
beggar.  Perhaps  it  is  not  so  ill  that  he  lives  to  know 
it.  It  is  a  better  revenge  than  any  I  could  have  de- 
vised, Delia  Scala  a  beggar,  a  hanger-on  at  his  kins- 
man's court,  deafening  his  ears  with  unwelcome  prayers, 
sinking  into  contempt  before  the  people  who  once  owned 
him  lord!" 

Giannotto  was  silent.  He  could  not  imagine  Mastino 
della  Scala  a  beggar  at  any  prince's  court. 

But  Visconti,  blinded  and  absorbed  by  hatred,  con- 
tinued unheedingly: 

"  Carrara  also,  the  Duke  of  Padua,  is  too  necessary 
to  the  Estes.  They  cannot  stand  without  him.  Will  he, 
thinkest  thou,  ever  be  won  over  to  side  with  Mastino? 
No,   Giannotto,   I   do   not   fear   him.  Let    Delia   Scala 


THE   TURQUOISE   GLOVES  103 

live  robbed  of  all, — and  with  Count  Conrad  as  an 
ally!" 

"  Shall  we  then  dismiss  him,  my  lord  ? "  ventured 
Giannotto  smoothly ;  "  he  who  is  not  worth  fearing  is 
not  worth  considering." 

He  seated  himself  at  the  low  table  as  he  spoke,  his 
watchful  eyes  on  Visconti,  and  drew  some  papers  from 
the  flat  bag  at  his  side. 

The  Duke  returned  no  answer.  In  truth  he  heard  not 
what  was  said,  but  leaned  back  in  his  chair  and  fell  to 
thinking.  The  secretary,  looking  at  his  brooding  face, 
shuddered  a  little  at  what  his  master's  thoughts  might 
be.  He  wondered  also  as  to  that  green  bracelet  that 
Visconti  had  concealed. 

The  silence  grew  oppressive,  and  Giannotto  moved 
uneasily.  He  loved  not  to  sit  alone  with  Visconti  when 
he  fell  into  these  musings. 

The  Duke  roused  himself. 

"  Ah,"  he  said,  breaking  suddenly  into  a  passion  of 
declaim.  "  A  God  can  do  no  more  than  say,  '  I  have 
succeeded — in  all  I  have  undertaken,  I  have  succeeded ! ' 
And  I  can  say  as  much.  I  have  succeeded.  I  looked  on 
life  and  took  from  it  what  I  wanted,  the  fairest  and  the 
finest  things  that  offered ;  and  the  price — others  paid  it. 
Truly,  I  have  succeeded ! " 

Giannotto  shrank  back  at  Visconti's  outburst,  and 
made  no  answer. 

But  the  Duke  had  forgotten  him.  He  was  but  utter- 
ing his  thoughts  aloud. 

"  Five  years  ago,"  he  said  exultingly,  "  I  rode  outside 
the  gates  of  Verona  and  challenged  Delia  Scala  to  single 
combat.  He  sent  his  lackey  out  with  a  refusal,  and  in 
my  heart  I  said :  '  I  will  bring  that  man  so  low  that  life 
shall  hold  nothing  so  sweet  to  him  as  the  thought  of 
meeting  me  in  single  fight  1 '  I  have  succeeded !  Isotta 


io4  THE   VIPER   OF   MILAN 

d'Este  looked  past  me  and  laughed,  and  I  said,  '  She  shall 
live  to  feel  her  life  within  my  hand.'  In  that  also  I 
have  succeeded! 

"  And  three  years  ago,  only  three  years  ago,  I  stood 
within  this  very  room,  four  lives  between  me  and  the 
throne  of  Milan — four  lives,  all  crafty — and  two  young. 
But  I — I  the  youngest,  took  my  fate  and  theirs  into 
my  hand.  I  said :  'It  is  for  me  to  reign  in  Milan — 
I  am  the  Duke.'  In  that  I  have  succeeded !  " 

He  paused,  with  dilating  eyes  and  parted  lips,  intoxi- 
cated with  pride. 

"  This  ambition  is  his  madness,"  thought  Giannotto ; 
but  he  still  was  silent. 

"  In  another  thing,"  continued  Visconti,  and  his  voice 
was  changed:  he  breathed  softly,  and  his  eyes  sparkled 
pleasantly.  "  Last  May-day  I  saw  the  people  in  the  fields, 
pulling  flowers;  I  knew  they  were  what  poets  call 
happy.  Among  them  were  two  girls,  one  dark,  one  fair, 
and  she  with  the  dark  hair  had  her  betrothed  beside  her. 
They  were  happy  among  the  happy,  they  loved  each 
other — and  I  rode  unseen.  The  may  was  thick  and 
white,  I  watched  them  through  the  flowers  and  vowed: 
I  too  will  be  happy,  even  as  they  are  happy,  though  I 
am  Visconti;  I  will  be  loved  for  myself  alone;  that 
fair-haired  girl  shall  care  for  me  as  her  companion  for 
her  lover, — life  shall  give  me  that  as  well ! " 

And  he  rose,  triumphant,  smiling,  resting  his  hand 
on  the  arras  that  hid  the  door  behind  him. 

The  secretary  gazed  upon  him  fascinated. 

Lifting  the  arras,  he  paused  again,  and  looked  back 
with  a  smile  that  transformed  his  face. 

"  In  that  too  have  I  succeeded !  "  he  said  melodiously ; 
and,  opening  the  narrow  door,  he  was  gone,  as  always, 
noiselessly. 

The  secretary  shook  himself. 


THE   TURQUOISE   GLOVES  105 

"Why  does  he  unburden  his  soul  to  me?"  he  mur- 
mured. "  Does  he  think,  because  I  sit  silent,  I  have 
no  ears,  no  memory — that  I  shall  forget  ?  *  In  that  too 
have  I  succeeded ! '  Aye,  thou  hast  it  all  thine  own  way, 
Visconti,  so  far." 

With  a  slight  shrug  of  the  shoulders  Giannotto  fell 
to  writing. 

When  his  pages  were  finished,  he  put  them  into  his 
bag  for  the  Duke  to  sign,  and  grumbled  at  his  absence, 
staved,  but  dared  not  follow.  Presently  he  decided  to 
take  his  own  dismissal. 

As  he  rose  to  go  he  remembered  Valentine  Visconti, 
flying  through  the  garden  after  her  secret  visit,  and 
he  considered,  if  she  could  bribe  him  to  silence  heavily 
enough  to  make  it  worth  his  while  to  venture  an  encoun- 
ter with  her. 

Visconti  did  not  stint  his  sister  for  money,  and  she 
might  pay  well.  Still,  dare  he  let  her  know  he  spied? 

Then  his  thoughts  went  to  Isotta  d'Este,  and  he  won- 
dered, with  some  interest,  what  her  fate  would  be. 

In  open  day  Isotta  d'Este  had  been  captured ;  all 
Europe  knew  she  was  his  prisoner;  Tuscany  and  the 
Empire  already  looked  with  interest  on  the  Duke  of 
Milan's  growing  power,  and  that  Duke  a  usurper.  Vis- 
conti had  to  step  warily. 

Still  busy  with  his  thoughts,  the  secretary  had  reached 
the  door,  when  it  opened  and  the  ancient  Luisa,  Isotta's 
prison  attendant  and  spy,  entered,  glancing  expectantly 
around. 

Giannotto  looked  at  her  slowly ;  he  hated  her — indeed, 
he  hated  most  people,  but  she  in  particular,  for  she 
equaled  him  in  servile  cunning  and  surpassed  him  in 
greed. 

"  I  would  see  the  Duke,"  she  said,  looking  at  him 
mistrustfully. 


106  THE   VIPER   OF   MILAN 

"  Thou  canst  not  see  him,"  returned  the  secretary, 
"  for  he  is  not  here." 

But  old  Luisa  seated  herself  calmly  on  one  of  the 
black-backed  chairs.  "  I  will  not  take  thy  word  for 
what  I  can  or  cannot  do/'  she  said.  "  I  have  important 
tidings  for  his  ear  alone." 

Giannotto  longingly  wondered  if  it  were  possible  to 
win  her  news  from  her  and  share  in  the  reward. 

"  I  will  get  thy  news  in  to  the  Duke,"  he  said.  "  Trust 
it  to  me,  and  I  will  see  he  does  not  forget  who  brought 
them,  but  'tis  impossible  to  see  him  now." 

Luisa  smiled. 

"  I  would  be  my  own  news-bearer,"  she  said,  and 
made  no  movement  to  go. 

"  Visconti  is  in  his  laboratory,"  said  Giannotto  angrily. 
"  Whatever  thy  news,  art  thou  so  mad  as  to  think  of 
following  him  there?  Wilt  thou  not  trust  it  to  me?" 
he  added  more  gently. 

She  shook  her  head  placidly. 

"  Have  thy  way,"  sneered  Giannotto.  "  Stay  and  see 
the  Duke,  and  be  dismissed  for  having  left  thy  post, 
and  remember  there  are  more  eyes  on  the  western  tower 
than  thou  knowest." 

The  old  woman  looked  uneasy,  but  stubbornly 
kept  her  place.  And  seizing  his  bag  and  papers, 
Giannotto  was  gone,  and  the  heavy  door  closed  be- 
hind him  before  she  could  know  what  was  going  to 
happen. 

"  Giannotto ! "  she  cried  in  alarm.  "  Listen  a  mo- 
ment— "  And  she  ran  and  pushed  at  the  door. 

Giannotto  opened  it  a  little  and  showed  his  smiling, 
crafty  face. 

"  Wilt  thou  give  me  the  news  or  wait  till  the  Duke 
leaves  his  laboratory  and  finds  thou  hast  been  absent 
from  thy  post  an  hour,  perchance  more  ?  " 


THE   TURQUOISE   GLOVES  107 

"  Take  it  then,"  said  Luisa  with  a  cry  of  vexation. 
"  But  I  will  repay  thee,  Giannotto." 

She  thrust  into  his  hands  a  piece  of  parchment. 

"  It  was  left  with  me  by  the  Lady  Valentine  to  give 
Isotta  d'Este.  Now,  make  what  else  of  it  thou  canst," 
and  Luisa  shuffled  past  him,  terror  overmastering  greed. 
To  be  locked  within  that  chamber  to  wait  the  Visconti 
was  what  she  had  not  heart  for.  Moreover,  she  could 
tell  the  Duke  another  time — and  he  would  listen — how 
Giannotto  had  forestalled  her. 

She  shuffled  off,  and  Giannotto  in  triumph  re-entered 
the  chamber.  He  read  the  parchment,  one  of  many: 
4i  Delia  Scala  lives." 

"  And  the  Lady  Valentine  conveys  it  to  Isotta  d'Este's 
prison,"  mused  Giannotto.  "  Now,  shall  I  tell  my  lord 
that  piece  of  news  or  no  ?  " 

He  regarded  the  two  doors,  between  which  Visconti's 
chair  was  set,  and  gently  tried  them:  one  was  locked, 
the  other  opened  to  the  touch.  He  dared  investigate  no 
further,  and  returning  to  his  chair,  sat  down  to  wait. 
The  minutes  dragged  on,  and  he  fumed  with  impa- 
tience. 

Visconti's  laboratory  was  not  altogether  a  secret  place. 
Giannotto  had  helped  him  in  his  experiments ;  there  was 
an  assistant  who  tended  the  fires.  But  no  one  followed 
the  Duke  into  it  unbidden. 

But,  as  time  went  on,  Giannotto  debated  with  himself 
that  he  would  venture.  Visconti  was  long.  What  was  he 
doing?  It  was  an  opportunity  to  spy.  If  caught,  the 
secretary  could  plead  anxiety  as  to  his  master's  safety. 
Summoning  his  courage,  Giannotto  rose  and  crept  to  the 
unlocked  door  and  softly  pushed  it  back. 

It  opened  on  a  flight  of  stairs,  black  marble,  carpeted 
in  gold,  the  high  walls  hung  with  tapestry  in  red. 

The  steps  were  few  in  number,  before  they  twisted 


io8  THE   VIPER   OF   MILAN 

abruptly  out  of  sight.  Round  the  bend  floated  a  thin 
wisp  of  gray  smoke. 

Giannotto  slowly  and  cautiously  mounted.  At  the  bend 
the  steps  still  continued,  twisting  again. 

It  was  very  silent,  very  still,  only  the  lazy  floating 
wreath  of  smoke  moving.  Giannotto  came  within  sight 
of  a  door,  ajar.  He  marveled  at  it.  It  was  thus  Conrad 
von  Schulembourg  had  escaped — through  an  unlocked 
door.  Visconti  trusted  overmuch  to  the  terror  of  his 
name. 

Giannotto  slowly  and  cautiously  pushed  it  a  little  fur- 
ther open.  It  showed  him  the  outer  laboratory,  a  long 
low  room  of  gray  stone,  and  lit  by  a  large  window 
set  back  a  man's  height  in  the  wall. 

Hanging  over  a  clear  charcoal  fire,  burning  In  a 
pan,  was  an  elaborate  silver  pot,  seeming  to  quiver  in 
the  vapor  that  shimmered  off  the  fire  underneath. 

Around  it  on  the  floor  stood  glasses,  vases,  jars  and 
goblets,  glass,  china  and  gold. 

Save  this,  the  vault-like  chamber  was  void  of  furni- 
ture; only  on  the  stove  near  the  window  lay  a  pile  of 
things,  curiously  mixed.  They  held  Giannotto's  eyes. 
They  were  not  in  the  laboratory  when  he  worked  there. 

A  man's  doublet  of  white  satin,  a  scent  bottle,  a  spray 
of  roses,  a  mask,  a  poniard,  two  scarfs  intertwisted, 
and,  sparkling  on  an  inlaid  tray,  a  massive  ring — he 
knew  it,  he  had  seen  it  on  Isotta's  hand — her  wedding 
ring;  all  this  thrown  among  two  birds  and  a  hound, 
stiff  and  dead. 

Giannotto  started  a  step  back.  Then  his  eyes  fell  on 
the  window-seat,  and  even  he  could  scarce  suppress 
a  cry. 

For  Visconti  stood  there,  erect  and  motionless,  so 
motionless  and  so  one  with  the  stone  beside  him,  Gian- 
notto had  not  known  him  there.  From  head  to  foot  he 


THE    TURQUOISE   GLOVES  109 

was  clad  in  gray.  In  his  right  hand  he  held  a  pair 
of  gloves,  turquoise  blue,  magnificently  worked  in 
pearls,  and  in  the  other  a  small  phial  filled  with  a  yel- 
low, slow-moving  liquid.  This  he  held  high  against 
the  light,  which  fell  strong  and  cold  upon  his  upturned 
face  and  thick,  curling  red  hair,  and  as  Giannotto 
gazed,  fascinated,  on  the  gleam  of  his  teeth  as  he  smiled 
with  a  slow  satisfaction.  Giannotto  had  seen  enough. 
His  heart  beat  quickly.  He  drew  the  door  to  again, 
and  crept  back  down  the  steps  unobserved,  gaining  the 
outer  chamber,  trembling:  and  there  for  a  moment  fell 
upon  his  knees,  as  if  in  thanks  for  a  most  merciful 
escape.  His  thanks  were  not  without  their  reason. 
Hardly  was  the  secretary  in  his  chair  again,  before  a 
light  foot-fall  sounded  and  Visconti  entered. 

For  one  moment  Giannotto  thrilled  with  terror,  but 
a  covert  glance  at  the  Duke's  face  reassured  him. 

"  I  have  this  to  give  you,  my  lord,"  he  began  at  once. 
"  It  was  left  in  the  Lady  Isotta's  prison." 

Visconti  took  the  parchment. 

"  By  whom  left  there  ?  "  he  asked. 

"  I  know  not,  my  lord,"  said  Giannotto.  "  Luisa 
brought  it,  but  dared  not  leave  her  post." 

His  own  narrow  escape  of  a  moment  since  had  tied  up 
Giannotto's  tongue. 

"  It  will  not  be  hard  to  discover,"  said  Visconti. 
"  Some  one  who  did  not  bribe  Luisa  high  enough." 

"  Mastino  della  Scala  lives,"  he  read  again.  He  handed 
the  parchment  back  to  the  secretary. 

"  Let  the  Lady  Isotta  have  it,"  he  said.  "  It  may  keep 
her  alive.  It  looks  to  me  that  she  may  die,  Giannotto, 
of  the  bad  air  and  the  confinement,"  and  he  smiled.  "  I 
would  certainly  not  have  her  death.  Give  her  the  parch- 
ment." And  he  handed  the  parchment  back,  dismissing 
Giannotto  with  the  gesture. 


no  THE   VIPER   OF   MILAN 

Clearly  Visconti  was  in  a  mood  that  held  neither 
comment  nor  reward,  but  one  the  secretary  was  glad 
to  escape  from  so  easily.  With  a  deep  obeisance  he  de- 
parted. 

"Who  bribes  the  woman  to  comfort  Isotta  d'Este? 
The  soldiers  are  to  be  trusted/'  mused  Visconti.  "  Once 
I  know  I  will  remember  it." 

He  drew  from  his  doublet  the  velvet  gloves  of  tur- 
quoise hue  and  laid  them  on  the  table. 

They  were  beautiful  in  their  perfect  workmanship, 
huge  gauntlets  fringed  with  pearl  and  gold,  and  tasseled 
at  the  points  with  rubies.  On  the  back  was  a  rich  design 
also  in  pearl  and  gold,  and  they  were  lined  with  white 
satin,  covered  in  fine  silk  lace. 

Truly  they  were  a  work  of  art.  Visconti  raised  them 
delicately  by  the  tassels  and  looked  long  at  their  rich 
blue,  admiringly,  and  with  a  curious  expression. 


CHAPTER   ELEVEN 

MASTINO  DELLA   SCALA 

IN  the  council  chamber  of  the  Estes'  summer  palace 
at  Ferrara  were  gathered  the  heads  of  the  reigning 
families  of  Lombardy. 

At  a  long  table,  set  across  one  end  of  the  apartment, 
two  men  were  seated  talking  to  one  another  in  low 
voices.  They  were  Ippolito  d'Este  and  Giacomo  Carrara, 
Duke  of  Padua.  D'Este,  a  stern,  gray-haired  man  of 
fifty  or  so,  with  keen  eyes  and  a  hard  mouth,  was  talk- 
ing rapidly,  tapping  the  while  his  fingers  nervously  upon 
the  table. 

Carrara,  florid,  pleasant-mannered,  with  brilliant  black 
eyes,  black  hair,  and  a  ready  smile,  leaned  forward  and 
listened,  observing  him  keenly.  Opposite  them,  but  the 
length  of  the  table  away,  a  lady  with  tired  eyes  and  a 
patient  mouth  leaned  back  in  her  chair,  motionless, 
watching  the  trees  seen  through  the  window. 

She  was  Julia  Gonzaga,  the  representative  in  this 
gathering  in  the  name  of  her  infant  nephew,  of  the  city 
of  Mantua  and  its  domains,  the  head  of  the  fourth  and 
last  great  family  of  Lombardy  who  dared  to  raise  a  hand 
against  the  encroachments  and  the  power  of  Visconti. 

But  if  at  this  end  of  the  chamber  the  only  sound 
was  low  converse,  all  subdued  and  quiet,  at  the  farther 
end  gay  voices  and  bursts  of  laughter  broke  the  stillness. 

For  seated  in  the  broad  window-seat,  toying  with  a 
sprig  of  myrtle,  was  Count  Conrad,  brilliant  and  light- 
hearted,  clad  in  the  last  extreme  of  fashion,  resplendent 


ii2  THE   VIPER   OF   MILAN 

in  primrose  velvet  and  mauve  silk,  with  long  scalloped 
sleeves  that  swept  the  ground. 

Around  his  waist  was  a  gold  belt  suspending,  by  a 
jeweled  chain,  an  orange  stuck  with  cloves  and  enclosed 
in  a  case  of  silver  filigree. 

Count  Conrad  also  wore  ear-rings,  pearl  drops  that 

1  shimmered  through  his  blond  curls,  and  on  each  wrist 

a  bracelet ;  yet  even  this  effeminacy  could  not  altogether 

destroy  a  certain  manliness  that  was  the  Count's,  spite 

of  an  almost  seeming  wish  to  disallow  it. 

Beside  him,  half-leaning  through  the  window,  was  a 
youth  of  twenty,  of  that  brilliant  beauty  too  bright  to 
last. 

He  too  was  dressed  more  like  an  idle  courtier  of  the 
Valois  court  than  a  fighting  noble  of  the  free  cities, 
and  the  rare  charm  of  his  face  was  marred  by  the  spoiled 
affectation  of  his  manner. 

"  Another  war ! "  laughed  Conrad.  "  I  have  done 
naught  but  fight  since  I  left  Germany.  I  am  on  the  sick 
list/' 

"  Not  when  the  war  is  of  thine  own  seeking,"  said 
Vincenzo.  "  Because  thou  needs  must  fall  in  love  with 
the  Visconti's  sister — as  if  there  were  not  others  as  fair 
and  far  safer  to  woo !  " 

Conrad  crossed  his  legs  and  glanced  critically  at  the 
taper  points  of  his  gold  shoes. 

"  'Tis  not  my  wooing  of  Visconti's  sister  has  caused 
war,"  he  replied.  "  Thy  brother-in-law " 

"  I  beseech  thee,"  cried  Vincenzo  petulantly,  "  leave 
me  some  little  rest  from  mention  of  his  name  and 
wrongs!  Ever  since  you  rode  into  Ferrara  some  six 
days  ago,  there  has  been  naught  else  talked  of  but 
Mastino,  Mastino's  wrongs,  what  we  must  do  for  Mas- 
tino — till  I  fair  weary  at  the  name !  " 

"  You  would  not  risk  your  all  to  glut  his  vengeance  ?  " 


MASTINO   DELLA   SCALA  n3 

remarked  the  Count.  "  None  the  less  his  wife  is  your 
sister,  and  a  d'Este." 

"  No  need  for  the  heroics  he  makes  over  her,  even 
so.  Visconti  will  not  hurt  her,  yet  we  must  be  hurried 
into  war  for  it,  forsooth !  " 

"  I  owe  Delia  Scala  my  life,"  returned  Conrad  airily. 
"  I  should  be  the  last  to  speak ;  still,  my  wrongs  are  as 
many  and  as  deep.  I  love  the  Lady  Valentine.  /  have 
lost  my  land  and  my  jewels,  my  house  and  servants, 
yet  I  am  quite  ready  to  settle  in  some  other  part  of  Italy 
— and  forget  Visconti.  /  do  not  go  about  trying  to  entice 
other  people  into  my  quarrels." 

He  sniffed  at  his  orange  as  he  spoke,  and  breaking  off 
the  end  of  the  myrtle,  stuck  it  in  his  belt. 

Vincenzo's  beautiful  eyes  flashed.  "  Art  thou  a  pol- 
troon then  ?  "  he  cried  scornfully.  "  Loved  I  a  lady  and 
she  were  kept  from  me,  I  would  not  rest  while  a  stone 
of  the  palace  that  held  her  remained  one  on  the  other." 

Conrad  raised  his  eyebrows,  startled  at  the  sudden 
change  of  front. 

"  Then  you  should  understand  Mastino,"  he  said. 

"  I  hate  Mastino.  He  is  wearisome,"  cried  Vincenzo, 
pettishly.  "  Still,  I  do  not  love  a  laggard." 

Conrad's  reply  was  checked.  Ippolito  d'Este  had  arisen 
and  was  calling  them  to  join  him.  Reluctantly  they  rose, 
Vincenzo  with  a  yawn  of  distaste,  and  approached  the 
table. 

Ippolito  frowned  at  Vincenzo's  face. 

"  You  would  spend  all  your  time  in  idleness,  it  seems," 
he  said.  "  Have  you  no  interest  then  in  our  decision 
as  to  the  aid  Delia  Scala  asks  ?  " 

Vincenzo  dropped  into  his  seat,  seemingly  rebuked. 
"  Aid,  my  father  ? "  he  said.  "  I  knew  not  it  was  aid 
Delia  Scala  asked,  methought  'twas  all!  " 

"  My  proposal  is  an  army,"  said  Giacomo  smoothly. 


1 14  THE   VIPER   OF   MILAN 

"  A  small  army.  Let  us  see  what  success  Delia  Scala 
has  with  a  small  army.  Our  all  is  much  to  ask." 

"  What  say  you  to  that  ? "  asked  Ippolito  of  his 
son. 

"  With  all  my  heart,"  returned  Vincenzo.  "  An  army 
small  or  large,  so  long  as  it  rids  us  of  his  gloomy  face 
about  court." 

"  Thou  art  an  insolent  boy,"  interrupted  his  father 
sternly.  "  At  thy  sister's  wedding  thou  wert  proud 
that  Mastino  della  Scala  stooped  to  pat  thee  on  the 
head.  The  Duke  of  Verona  was  once  as  much  greater 
than  are  we,  Vincenzo,  than  we  are  higher  than  a  foot- 
man. It  goes  not  with  nobility  nor  with  honor  to  slight 
the  fallen." 

Vincenzo  blushed  under  his  father's  rebuke  and  sat 
silent.  But  Giacomo,  always  ready  to  smooth  things 
over,  turned  to  the  Duchess  of  Mantua. 

"  And  you,"  he  said.  "  You,  lady,  what  think  you  of 
trusting  Della  Scala  with  an  army  ?  " 

Julia  Gonzaga  smiled  a  little  wearily. 

"  Where  is  he,  to  speak  for  himself?  "  she  asked. 

"  We  are  waiting  for  him,"  Ippolito  replied.  "  He  said 
he  would  be  with  us.  He  is  late,"  he  added  testily. 

"  Doubtless  the  hour  has  escaped  him,"  put  in  Gia- 
como pleasantly.  "  The  Duke  of  Verona  will  not  fail 
us." 

"  He  will  disappoint  us — if  he  turns  up,"  said  Vin- 
cenzo under  his  breath.  But  Conrad  caught  the  whisper 
and  choked  with  a  suppressed  laugh — not  that  the  re- 
mark was  funny,  but  that  Count  Schulembourg  was 
foolish.  Ippolito's   stern  eyes   were  turned   on   him. 

"  Is  this  a  council  of  war  ?  "  he  asked,  "  or  a  gather- 
ing of " 

"  A  council  of  war,"  interposed  Conrad  hastily,  with 
his  most  winning  smile. 


MASTINO   DELLA   SCALA  115 

But  D'Este  looked  on  him  with  mistrust ;  he  had  no  love 
for  the  light-hearted   German. 

Still  Mastino  came  not,  and  Giacomo  moved  with  a 
great  show  of  patience  and  forbearance. 

"  Tis  scarcely  the  way  to  treat  with  us,"  he  said. 

"  Tis  treatment  good  enough  for  those  who  bear  it," 
breathed  Vincenzo,  and  Conrad  sniffed  his  orange. 
Ippolito's  brow  grew  dark ;  he  struck  a  gong  beside  him, 
and  a  page  appeared. 

"  Tell  my  lord  of  Verona  we  wait  for  him."  He  turned 
to  the  others.  "  Tis  agreed,"  he  said  quickly,  "  that  we 
furnish  Delia  Scala  with  a  small  army — to  be  con- 
tributed between  us." 

Carrara  moved  in  silent  assent;  in  Julia  Gonzaga's 
face  a  faint  scorn  showed. 

A  silence  fell,  broken  only  by  the  tapping  of  d'Este's 
fingers  on  the  polished  table. 

Then  at  the  farther  end  of  the  chamber  two  pages 
drew  apart  the  scarlet  curtains  and  Mastino  della  Scala 
entered.  Conrad,  glancing  up,  wondered  how  even  for 
a  moment  he  could  have  mistaken  him  for  aught  but 
what  he  was,  so  noble  and  stately  was  his  bearing. 

Conrad  and  the  d'Estes  moved  at  his  entrance,  but 
slightly,  and  kept  their  eyes  upon  him  as  he  walked  to 
the  head  of  the  table  and  there  took  his  place. 

Though  by  far  the  plainest  in  attire,  his  simple  leather 
doublet  in  marked  contrast  with  Conrad's  display  and 
Vincenzo's  fashion,  he  took  the  head  of  the  council, 
naturally  and  unquestioned.  So  much  of  the  glory  of  his 
former  greatness  still  remained  to  him. 

"  And  are  your  councils  ended  ?  "  he  asked.  "  I  would 
hasten  you,  my  lords.  Still  further  delay,  and  Visconti 
will  be  first  in  the  field." 

He  paused,  and  took  his  seat  in  the  large  black  chair, 
looking  keenly  at  their  faces. 


u6  THE   VIPER   OF   MILAN 

For  a  moment  no  one  answered,  then  Giacomo  leaned 
forward  with  a  deprecating  smile. 

"  My  lord  of  Verona,"  he  said  smoothly,  "  you  ask 
us  to  venture  everything — and  give  us  five  days  in  which 
to  decide — surely  you  are  not  surprised  our  answer  is 
not  quite  ready  ?  " 

Mastino  della  Scala  bit  his  lip  to  keep  back  an  angry 
reply. 

"  Five  hours  were  enough  in  such  a  case  as  this, 
my  lord,"  he  said  quietly. 

Now  d'Este  spoke  hastily.  "  We  have  come  to  a 
resolution,  Mastino — one  in  which  we  all  agree,"  and 
he  looked  questioningly  around  upon  the  others.  No  one 
answered,  and,  taking  silence  for  consent,  Ippolito  con- 
tinued : 

"  We  will  aid  thee,  Mastino,  I  and  Carrara,  and  the 
Duchess  of  Mantua " 

He  paused  a  little  nervously,  and  Giacomo  kept  his 
bright  black  eyes  on  Mastino's  face. 

"  My  lord  of  Ferrara  says  rightly,"  he  put  in  smoothly. 
"  I  will  second  him." 

The  note  of  condescension  in  the  Duke  of  Padua's 
voice  stung  Della  Scala  sharply;  it  was  only  with  an 
effort  he  controlled  himself. 

"  With  what  will  you  aid  me  ?  "  he  asked  calmly. 

Still  d'Este  hesitated,  for  his  proposal  was  mean  even 
in  his  own  eyes,  but  Giacomo  answered  for  him  in  even 
tones :  "  We  will  aid  you  with  an  army  of  ten  thousand 
men,  Lord  della  Scala,  to  be  recruited  from  Padua,  Man- 
tua, and  Ferrara ;  well  armed  and " 

But  Della  Scala  had  risen. 

"  Spare  thyself  a  catalogue  of  their  virtue,  my  lord  of 
Padua,"  he  said.  "  For  I  refuse  thy  offer — one  well 
worthy  of  a  Carrara !  " 

Giacomo  paled  with  anger;  his  merchant  descent  was 
a  sore  point,  and  Mastino's  words  struck  home. 


MASTINO   DELLA    SCALA  117 

"  Refuse !  "  exclaimed  Ippolito.  "  Ten  thousand  men !  " 
Delia  Scala  glanced  at  him  with  scorn. 

"  Ten  thousand  men !  "  he  echoed.  "  Yes,  I  refuse  ten 
thousand  men.  I  thought  thou  once  loved  me,  d'Este,  and 
wert  too  much  of  a  soldier  to  dishonor  me  by  such  a 
proposal." 

"  We  can  make  it  more — "  began  Ippolito. 

"  Dost  thou  not  think  I  can  see  through  this  ?  "  inter- 
rupted Mastino  bitterly.  "  This  offer  is  but  given  to  get 
rid  of  me — a  safer  way  of  dismissing  me  from  the  court 
that  once  cringed  to  entertain  me  than  a  plain  refusal. 
Ten  thousand  men !  I  thought  better  of  thee,  d'Este." 

"  Then  fifty  thousand,"  replied  Ippolito,  stung  by  the 
reproach. 

"  A  royal  number,"  put  in  Conrad,  but  Delia  Scala 
turned  on  them  in  fury. 

"  No ! "  he  cried.  "  Not  fifty  nor  a  hundred  thousand 
men,  to  make  sport  for  Visconti's  leisure  hours — Vis- 
conti  who  holds  nine  towns  of  mine  alone,  Visconti  who 
is  leagued  with  France  and  has  the  Empire  at  his  heels, 
Visconti  who  has  gained  Bergamo,  Lodi,  and  Bologna 
and  has  half  the  mercenaries  of  Italy  in  his  pay!  No, 
d'Este,  I  have  been  too  great  for  that.  Since  you  so 
forget  what  I  have  been,  and  who  my  wife  is — I  will 
leave  thee,  nor  trouble  thy  peace  for  men  thou  canst  not 
give  ungrudgingly.  And  thou,  Carrara,  I  will  leave  thee 
— in  thy  blind  folly,  to  wait  for  Visconti's  eye  to  fall  on 
thee;  all  thy  prudence  will  not  save  thee  then.  Mean- 
while, I  will  try  in  the  towns  of  Tuscany  if  there  be 
men  left  in  Italy  to  face  a  tyrant !  " 

They  sat  silent  beneath  his  wrath,  and  he  turned  to  go, 
but  paused  and  looked  back  to  them  with  a  glance  they 
could  not  meet. 

"  Only  hear  this  before  I  go,"  he  said  passionately ; 
"  there   is    one    thing   thy    faint-heartedness    shall    not 


n8  THE   VIPER   OF   MILAN 

touch,  one  thing  I  will  achieve  without  thy  aid,  though 
thy  meanness  leaves  me,  and  that  is,  at  any  cost,  the 
freedom  " — his  voice  trembled — "  of  Isotta,  my  wife.  1 
will  free  her,"  he  continued  sternly.  "  Before  you  all  I 
mean  it;  she  shall  be  saved,  even  if  mine  honor  goes 
to  do  it." 

And  he  turned  away,  but  Count  Conrad  rose,  roused 
out  of  himself  by  the  excitement  Mastino  had  inspired. 

"  I  will  follow  thee,"  he  cried. 

"What  wouldst  thou  have,  Mastino?"  cried  Ippolito 
after  him,  half-distraught.  "What  wouldst  thou  have?" 

Delia  Scala  turned  in  the  middle  of  the  chamber, 
magnificent  in  his  wrath  and  pain.  "  All,"  he  said 
proudly.  "  All  thou  canst  give,  and  above  all,  thy  trust. 
I  am  no  boy  to  be  put  off  with  a  few  soldiers.  I  need 
Modena,  Ferrara,  Padua,  every  town  of  Lombardy  that 
is  in  thy  hands;  all  thy  money,  all  thy  troops,  every- 
thing thou  canst  give — and  then  I  will  crush  Visconti. 
When  I  fell  it  was  through  most  foul  treachery.  I  will 
league  with  no  half-hearted  friends  again." 

And  again  he  turned  to  leave,  this  time  Conrad  at  his 
heels,  when  a  soft  voice  arrested  him,  Julia  Gonzaga's. 

"  I  have  this  to  say  before  thou  leavest  us,  Delia 
Scala,"  she  said.  "  All  I  have,  Mantua  and  its  lands,  are 
at  thy  disposal,  and  I  am  proud  so  great  a  captain  as 
my  lord  of  Verona  should  command  my  men." 

Mastino  turned,  his  eyes  sparkling  with  joy. 

"  My  greatest  thanks  for  thy  gift,  lady,"  he  said,  "  and 
still  more  for  the  gracious  manner  of  thy  giving."  And 
before  he  could  say  more  Vincenzo  rose  impulsively. 

"  Shall  we  be  outdone  by  a  woman !  "  he  cried,  his  beau- 
tiful face  flushed.  "  It  goes  not  with  our  honor,  father, 
we  should  leave  Mantua  to  fight  Visconti ! " 

Ippolito  no  less  was  roused. 

He  stepped  toward  Mastino  and  held  out  his  hand. 


MASTINO   DELLA   SCALA  119 

"  I  ask  thy  pardon  for  too  much  wariness,"  he  said 
with  a  faint  smile.  "  I  am  as  proud  now  as  ever  of  my 
relationship  to  thee,  and  everything  within  my  hands 
is  thine  to  use  as  thou  wilt  against  Visconti."  Mastino 
grasped  his  hand  convulsively. 

"  Thou  shalt  not  repent  it,"  he  said,  his  generous  soul 
melted  at  once.  "  While  I  live  thou  shalt  not  repent." 

Meanwhile  Giacomo  Carrara's  prudent  brain  had 
rapidly  concluded  it  would  be  most  to  his  advantage, 
at  least  for  the  moment,  to  side  openly  with  Delia  Scala, 
even  in  this  wholesale  fashion. 

"  I  too  am  of  the  same  mind,"  he  said  pleasantly  and 
frankly.  "  All  I  have  is  thine,  Delia  Scala." 

"  Then  in  a  few  days  I  will  march  on  Verona !  "  cried 
Mastino,  "  and  with  thy  generous  aid  I  shall  recover  it ! 
My  heart  is  too  full.  I  cannot  speak  my  thanks,"  he 
continued,  "  but  by  my  honor  and  my  sword  I  swear, 
thou  d'Este,  thou  Carrara,  and  thou  lady,  shall  never 
regret  thy  trust  in  me." 


CHAPTER   TWELVE 

graziosa's  lover 

IN  the  courtyard  of  the  painter  Agnolo's  house  in 
Milan,  the  sunshine  fell  strong  and  golden,  sparkling  on 
the  fountain  that  rose  in  the  center  from  its  rough  stone 
basin,  and  throwing  the  waxen  blossoms  of  the  chestnut 
into  brilliant  relief  against  the  sapphire  sky. 

The  courtyard  was  of  stone.  Around  three  sides  ran  the 
wall,  one  with  its  door  into  the  street;  opposite  was  a 
large  garden,  entered  by  an  archway,  the  wicket  in  which 
stood  always  ajar. 

The  fourth  side  of  the  quadrangle  was  formed  by  the 
dwelling-house,  which  stood  with  its  back  to  the  ivied 
walls,  itself  a  long,  low  building,  the  upper  half  of  which, 
jutting  above  the  lower,  was  supported  on  pillars  of 
carved  stone. 

Around  the  bottom  wall  ran  a  wide  border  of  plants, 
some  climbing,  others  heavy  with  brilliant  blossoms, 
trailing  along  the  ground,  and  in  the  cool,  blue  shadows 
in  the  recess  formed  by  the  projecting  story  were  large 
pots  of  spreading  ferns,  vivid  green,  mingled  with  the 
spikes  of  bright  scarlet  flowers. 

The  basin  of  the  fountain  in  the  center  was  velvet 
green  with  moss,  and  over  the  limpid  water  there  spread 
the  flat  leaves  of  water-lilies.  Above  the  wall  rose  the 
sweet-smelling  chestnuts,  spreading  their  fan-like  foli- 
age and  snowy  blossoms,  tier  upon  tier,  against  the  bril- 
liant sky,  and  through  the  low  arch,  trellised  with  roses, 


ur\w: 

OF 


GRAZIOSA'S    LOVER  121 

tHe  garden  stretched,  a  bewildering  mass  of  color,  white, 
mauve,  yellow,  pink,  blue  and  red,  into  the  soft  distance, 
a  swaying  mass  of  trees.  It  was  late  afternoon,  and  the 
shadows  were  lengthening,  as  out  of  the  house,  the  door 
of  which  stood  open,  came  the  little  painter.  He  stepped 
into  the  sunshine,  mopping  his  face  and  shaking  his 
clothes. 

From  head  to  foot  he  was  a  mass  of  green  slime,  his 
doublet  torn,  his  hands  scratched,  his  face  hot  and  per- 
spiring. After  a  few  vain  attempts  to  remove  the  dirt 
that  clung  to  him,  he  looked  around  with  a  rueful  coun- 
tenance. 

"  Graziosa!  "  he  called.  "  Graziosa!  " 

The  lattice  of  an  upper  window  was  thrown  open,  and 
Graziosa  looked  out. 

At  sight  of  her  father  she  laughed.  "  Hast  thou  been 
down  thy  passage  again,  father  ?  "  she  called  from  the 
window. 

Agnolo  made  a  wry  face  good-humoredly.  "  That  I 
have,"  he  returned,  "  and  fell  into  a  pond  at  the  other 
end." 

"The  other  end!"  echoed  his  daughter.  "Then  you 
got  through?  " 

Vistarnini  rubbed  his  damaged  hands  together  with 
satisfaction.  "  Aye,"  he  said  with  a  smile,  "  after  tearing 
my  clothes,  fighting  briers,  stepping  on  toads,  stifling 
with  dust,  and  pitching  on  my  face  in  the  dark,  I " 

"  Fell  into  a  pond!  "  laughed  Graziosa. 

"  Got  to  the  other  end,"  cried  the  little  painter.  "  Got 
to  the  other  end !  "  Graziosa  disappeared  from  the  win- 
dow, and  came  running  into  the  courtyard,  a  slender 
figure  in  scarlet. 

"  Got  to  the  other  end,"  repeated  Vistarnini  breath- 
lessly. "  A  noble  underground  passage,  Graziosa,  that  is 
what  we  have  discovered,  large  enough  to  admit  an  army 


122  THE   VIPER   OF   MILAN 

if  need  were,  and  with  a  concealed  opening,  leading  out 
through  a  cave  to  the  midst  of " 

"  A  pond,"  suggested  Graziosa  with  a  glance  at  his 
garments. 

"  A  wood — the  pond  was  a  mere  accessory ;  a  wood, 
some  two  miles  beyond  the  town." 

"  Then  since  this  end  is  reached  from  our  house,  we  are 
the  only  ones  who  can  gain  access  to  it?  "  said  Graziosa. 

"  We  are,"  returned  the  painter  proudly.  "  And,  Gra- 
ziosa, we  will  remain  so." 

"Thou  mean'st  thou  wilt  tell  no  one?"  asked  his 
daughter. 

"  No;  it  will  be  very  useful.  I  hate  to  be  forever  pass- 
ing the  gate,  giving  accounts  of  myself  to  every  saucy 
soldier.  In  time  of  need,  should  there  be  a  war,  then 
perchance  we  can  speak  of  it." 

"  I  think  we  should  speak  of  it  now,"  said  Graziosa 
thoughtfully.  "  I  think  we  should  tell  the  Duke." 

"Tell  the  weathercock!"  said  Vistarnini.  "I  tell  thee 
it  will  be  useful ;  the  tolls  nearly  ruin  me — and  now  I  can 
bring  everything  I  buy  outside  in  through  the  secret 
passage." 

"  Tis  scarce  honest,  father." 

Agnolo  laughed. 

"  I  discovered  it,"  he  said.  "  No  one  knew  of  it,  and 
the  Duke  can  well  spare  my  tolls." 

*  Meanwhile  change  thy  dress,  father,"  laughed  Gra- 
ziosa, "  and  thou  always  dost  as  thou  thinkest.  I  have  no 
more  to  say." 

Then,  as  Vistarnini  moved  toward  the  house ,  his 
daughter  called  after  him  softly: 

"  I  may  tell  Ambrogio,  father?  " 

"  Thou  may'st  do  no  such  thing,"  returned  Agnolo. 
"  His  conscience  would  prick  him — he  is  overgrave  and 
honest " 


GRAZIOSA'S    LOVER  123 

"  He  is  not,"  said  Graziosa  indignantly.  "  I  mean — he 
would  not  tell — I  am  sure  he  will  not  tell!  " 

"  And  so  am  I — for  he  will  never  know,"  said  Agnolo 
with  a  smile.  "  Now  thy  promise,  Graziosa,  that  thou 
tellest  no  one,  not  even  thy  precious  Ambrogio — and  the 
first  thing  I  smuggle  through  shall  be  a  new  silk  gown 
for  thee!" 

Graziosa  laughed,  and  seated  herself  on  the  edge  of  the 
basin. 

14 1  promise,"  she  called.  "  But  as  for  the  gown,  thou 
couldst  have  brought  me  that  in  any  case !  " 

Vistarnini  turned  into  the  house,  and  silence  again  fell 
on  the  sunny  courtyard. 

Graziosa  looked  musingly  at  the  gate,  then  down  at  her 
bare  arm  and  sighed. 

Two  pet  doves  whirled  down  from  the  chestnuts  and 
strutted  across  the  courtyard,  with  a  show  of  white  tails. 

Graziosa  noticed  them  suddenly,  in  the  midst  of  her 
dreaming,  and  was  rising  to  get  their  evening  meal,  when 
the  little  painter,  clean  and  reclothed,  bustled  out  of  the 
house,  carrying  a  flat  dish. 

"  Here  is  thy  food ! "  he  cried  to  the  birds.  "  Are  ye 
hungry,  little  ones?  " 

And  he  threw  the  grain  in  a  golden  shower. 

"  Ambrogio  is  not  here  to  see  thee  feed  to-day,"  he 
continued.  "  What  makes  him  late,  Graziosa?  " 

"  The  way  is  long,"  she  returned,  "  from  the  convent 
where  he  works,  father,  and  the  monks  grudge  him  any 
time  away  from  the  altar-piece." 

"And  the  bracelet?"  said  Agnolo.  "He  vowed  thou 
shouldst  have  it  back." 

"  I  wish  he  had  not,"  said  the  girl  in  distress.  "  He  will 
do  something  rash,  I  fear  me.  How  can  he  get  it  back 
from  the  Visconti  palace  ?  " 

"  He  won't  get  it  back,"  said  the  little  painter  cheer- 


i24  THE   VIPER   OF    MILAN 

fully.  "  Even  a  lover  would  not  be  quite  so  mad  as  to 
beard  the  Visconti  for  a  toy." 

"  Yet  he  swore  I  should  have  it  again.  It  was  rash  of 
me  to  tell  him  how  I  lost  it,"  replied  Graziosa. 

"  Then  he  would  have  thought  thou  hadst  given  it  to 
the  stone-cutter  next  door,  and  there  would  have  been 
high  words,  flashing  eyes.  '  Ha — ha — come  out  and  be 
slain,  thou  varlet!  Skulking  dog,  thou  liest! '  then  swords 
out,  and  thou  lying  in  a  faint — or  bewailing  the  day  of 
thy  birth.  After  that,  thunder  and  lightning — gore — the 
brawlers  driven  into  the  street — the  soldiers  come  up — 
and  off  we  go  to  prison  for  disturbing  the  streets  with 
our  frays." 

"  You  jest  too  much,  father,"  said  Graziosa.  "  It  may 
be  serious  if  Ambrogio  try  to  recover  the  bracelet." 

But  a  light  knock  on  the  outer  door  interrupted  her, 
and  with  a  heightened  color  she  rose. 

"  It  is  he,  father!  "  she  whispered.  "  I  knew  he  would 
not  fail  us." 

Agnolo  hurried  forward  and  drew  back  the  bolts,  and 
truly  enough  Ambrogio  entered. 

Graziosa's  lover  was  of  medium  height,  a  slight 
man,  with  beautiful  gray  eyes.  His  attire  was  the  plain 
garb  of  a  student.  To-day  his  right  hand  was  hanging 
in  a  sling,  while  in  the  other  he  carried  a  roll  of 
drawings. 

"Still  alive!"  said  Agnolo  pleasantly.  "Graziosa  was 
fearing  thou  hadst  spitted  thyself  on  Visconti's  sword  in 
the  recovery  of  her  bracelet." 

Ambrogio  took  little  heed  of  the  painter,  but  closing 
the  door  softly  behind  him,  turned  with  a  tender  glance 
to  Graziosa. 

"  Wert  thou  grieving  for  me?  "  he  said  gently.  "  I  am 
safe,  my  beautiful,  and  see,  I  have  kept  my  word." 

As  he  spoke  he  drew  out  the  emerald  bracelet  from  his 


GRAZIOSA'S    LOVER  .125 

robe,  and  handed  it  with  a  smile  to  the  girl  who  stood 
there,  blushing  with  pleasure  and  astonishment. 

"  Thou  hast  got  it  back,"  she  cried ;  "  from  the  Vis- 
conti  palace!  " 

Ambrogio  smoothed  her  bright  hair  tenderly. 

"  The  bracelet  was  thine,"  he  said,  "  therefore  I  went 
there  for  it,  and  have  brought  it  back  to  thee,  even  from 
the  Visconti  palace." 

Agnolo  was  staring  at  him  in  amazement. 

"  How  didst  thou  do  it!  "  he  exclaimed. 

Ambrogio  touched  his  bandaged  arm  with  a  smile. 

"  With  only  a  small  injury,"  he  said,  "  since  'tis  not 
the  hand  I  paint  with." 

And  now  Graziosa  broke  in  with  passionate  exclama- 
tions of  pity  for  his  wound,  or  admiration  for  his  cour- 
age, covering  the  injured  hand  with  caresses. 

"Thou  hast  recovered  it — by  force  ?  "  asked  Agnolo 
again,  incredulous. 

"  Call  it  by  force  or  what  thou  wilt,"  returned  Am- 
brogio. "  There  is  no  need  to  speak  of  it  more.  It  is 
enough  you  are  in  no  danger.  No  one  will  follow  me  here 
to  regain  it.,, 

Graziosa  kissed  her  recovered  treasure  and  clasped  it 
on  her  arm  again. 

u  I  shall  never  dare  to  wear  it  save  within  these  walls," 
she  said. 

Ambrogio  took  her  hand  in  his,  and  led  toward  the 
house. 

"  Do  not  fear,  sweet,"  he  returned,  looking  down  at  her 
with  a  smile.  "  Wear  it  where  and  how  thou  wilt.  Tisio 
Visconti  will  not  annoy  thee  more." 

The  girl  glanced  up,  startled  by  the  authority  of  his 
manner. 

Ambrogio,  noticing  the  questioning  look,  turned  it 
aside  with  a  pleasant  laugh. 


126  THE   VIPER   OF   MILAN 

"  The  Duke  is  tired  of  his  whims,  and  is  putting  him 
under  a  closer  watch,"  he  said.  "  From  now  on  he  will 
not  often  ride  the  streets." 

"  I  am  sorry  for  him,"  said  Graziosa  impulsively.  "  I 
am  very  sorry  for  him." 

They  were  at  the  house  door,  and  Agnolo,  stepping 
ahead  into  the  dark  entrance,  led  the  way  up  a  flight  of 
shallow  wooden  stairs. 

"  This  is  stirring  news,  Ambrogio,"  he  called  over  his 
shoulder.  "  About  the  Duke  of  Verona's  escape,  I  mean. 
Do  you  think  there  will  be  war?" 

"lama  man  of  peace,"  returned  Ambrogio  softly, 
his  eyes  on  Graziosa.  "How  should  I  know?  Still,  I  do 
not  think  Delia  Scala  will  trouble  the  peace  of  Milan 
much." 

And  now  Agnolo,  at  the  top  of  the  flight  of  stairs,  was 
holding  open  a  wide  door  through  which  they  passed 
into  Agnolo's  workshop,  filled  with  the  pleasant  litter 
of  his  occupation.  "  I  do  not  agree  with  thee,"  he  said. 
"  Delia  Scala's  is  a  great  name.  Were  I  Visconti,  I 
should  not  feel  secure." 

Graziosa  and  Ambrogio  entered  the  long  room,  high 
and  light,  its  windows  opening  wide  onto  the  street. 

And  Ambrogio,  seating  himself  near  one  of  the  large 
easels,  turned  to  Agnolo,  the  while  he  drew  Graziosa 
gently  down  beside  him. 

"  What  has  the  Duke  of  Milan  to  fear  from  Delia 
Scala  ?  "  he  asked. 

"  Everything,"  cried  Vistarnini  excitedly,  for  keenly 
did  the  little  painter  love  to  air  his  views.  "  Everything. 
Mark  me,  Ambrogio,  if  the  Duke  of  Verona  do  not  sud- 
denly fall  on  one  of  Visconti's  towns." 

"  He  has  no  army,"  said  the  student.  "  He  cannot 
rouse  the  d'Estes." 

"He  will!"  cried  Agnolo.  "He  will— he  and  Count 


GRAZIOSA'S    LOVER  127 

Conrad.  Didst  thou  not  rejoice,  Ambrogio,  when  Count 
Conrad  escaped?  We  heard  of  it  from  the  soldiers. 
Graziosa  was  glad  at  heart,  as  every  man  or  woman  or 
child  must  be.  Such  a  fate!  Didst  thou  not  rejoice  he  had 
escaped  it?" 

Ambrogio  was  mixing  colors  in  a  china  saucer,  and 
tapped  his  foot  a  little  impatiently. 

"  Why  should  we  talk  of  Delia  Scala — and  Visconti  ?  " 
he  said. 

"Visconti!  who  wishes  to  talk  of  him?"  returned  the 
little  painter.  "  Tales  have  come  to  me  about  him,  too 
terrible  to  repeat  before  our  Graziosa,"  he  added,  lower- 
ing his  voice. 

"  You  gossip  too  much  with  the  soldiers,  father,"  said 
Graziosa.  "  I  do  not  love  the  soldiers,  nor  should  you 
listen  to  their  tales  about  Visconti." 

"  They  would  seem  to  tell  them  a  little  too  freely," 
murmured  her  lover,  and  drew  his  brows  together. 

"  What  dost  thou  mean,  Graziosa?  "  cried  her  father, 
"  as  if  it  were  only  from  the  soldiers  we  hear  of  the  Duke. 
Lately  some  fine  tales  have  got  about,  and  on  no  soldier's 
authority." 

"  Shall  we  not  set  to  work  on  the  pictures  ?  "  interrup- 
ted Ambrogio.  "You  said,  methinks,  these  tales  were 
not  for  Graziosa's  ears." 

"  Indeed,  'tis  true,"  and  the  little  painter  bustled  to  the 
second  easel  and  drew  the  curtain  that  hung  before  the 
large  panel,  revealing  an  almost  completed  picture  of  St. 
Catherine  in  scarlet  robes. 

"  Thy  work  looks  well,  Ambrogio,"  he  said,  and  re- 
moving a  similar  covering  from  the  easel  by  which  Am- 
brogio sat,  gazed  at  the  companion  panel  on  which  was 
depicted  the  archangel  Michael.  "  But  mine  is  better,"  he 
added,  "  as  it  should  be:  thy  work  will  improve  with  thy 
years." 


128  THE   VIPER   OF    MILAN 

"  Tis  as  fine  work  as  thy  St.  Michael,  father,"  said 
Graziosa,  "  and  a  good  likeness." 

"  Nay,  not  so  fair  by  half  as  thou  art,"  murmured  Am- 
brogio.  "  Thou  art  not  easy  to  copy,  Graziosa." 

Agnolo  was  studying  his  picture  intently. 

"  'Twas  an  idle  fancy  to  take  thee  as  my  model  for  St. 
Michael,"  he  said  at  length.  "  Thou  dost  not  inspire  me 
as  St.  Michael,  Ambrogio." 

"As  what  then?"  asked  his  daughter,  smiling  at  her 
father's  earnestness. 

Agnolo  laughed. 

"  As  no  saint  at  all,"  he  said.  "  He  is  like  nothing  but 
the  wicked  young  man  reclaimed  in  the  legend  of  St. 
Francis,  and  not  very  reclaimed  either!  " 

Graziosa  smiled  still  more,  but  Ambrogio  faintly 
flushed  and  bit  his  lip. 

"  Thou  art  welcome  to  paint  me  in  that  character  an- 
other time,"  he  said.  "  Meanwhile,  I  will  work  on  my  St. 
Catherine's  robe." 

And  he  seated  himself  on  a  low  stool  before  the  easel, 
Graziosa  placing  herself  on  the  floor  at  his  feet. 

Agnolo  scrutinized  the  St.  Michael  once  more,  but 
finally  drew  the  curtain  again  along  the  rod,  for  his  day's 
work  was  over.  Settling  himself  in  the  window-seat,  for 
a  while  he  contentedly  watched  the  other  two;  but  not  for 
long  could  the  little  painter  keep  his  tongue  still,  and 
Ambrogio's  visits  were  a  fine  opportunity  for  voluble 
talk,  for  the  young  man  lived  in  Como,  and  was  he  not 
now  shut  up  in  the  convent  of  St.  Joseph,  five  miles 
away,  painting  an  altar-piece  for  avaricious  monks  who 
grudged  him  even  these  occasional  visits  into  Milan? 
What  could  he  know  of  the  city's  news? 

"  We  had  a  fine  procession  this  morning,  Ambrogio," 
he  said.  "  The  Duke  of  Orleans'  retinue  went  by,  a  gay 
sight.  We  hoped  to  see  the  Duke  ride  out  to  meet  him, 


GRAZIOSA'S    LOVER  129 

but  my  lord  Gian  Visconti  keeps  himself  close.  For  all 
we  live  so  near  the  gate,  I  have  never  seen  him,  or  only 
in  his  helmet;  and  yet  'tis  said  he  cares  a  good  deal  for 
sculpture  and  for  painting,  and  will  make  a  fine  thing  of 
this  grand  new  church  he's  building.  I  would  love  to  see 
what  a  tyrant  and  a  painter  both  may  look  like." 

Ambrogio,  bending  over  his  painting,  returned  no  an- 
swer; but  that  made  small  difference  to  the  talkative  little 
man,  who  continued: 

"  He  came  not,  however,  so  we  contented  ourselves 
with  the  French  Prince,  who  is  to  marry  the  Lady  Valen- 
tine. Graziosa  did  not  care  for  him ;  I  thought  him  well- 
looking  enough." 

"  His  air  was  not  a  gay  one,  and  he  seems  foolish," 
said  Graziosa;  "  and  since  he  is  not  marrying  for  love,  I 
am  sorry  for  the  Lady  Valentine." 

"  Thou  art  always  sorrowing  for  some  one,"  said  her 
father.  "  A  princess  never  marries  for  love." 

"  Then  I  am  glad  I  am  no  princess,"  smiled  Graziosa, 
looking  up  at  her  betrothed. 

Ambrogio  raised  her  hand  to  his  lips  and  kissed  it  in 
silence. 

Agnolo  continued  his  recitals,  refreshing  himself  every 
now  and  again  with  renewed  glances  from  the  window. 

"  A  splendid  view  we  have  here,  only  some  proces- 
sions are  not  so  pleasant  as  the  one  that  passed  to-day. 
There  was  one  in  particular  —  some  weeks  ago  —  we 
stayed  in  the  back  of  the  house  that  day.  The  old  Vis- 
conti rode  to  Brescia,  the  soldiers  said,  his  son  behind 
him!  Ah,  for  that  day's  work  the  Duke  is  a  lost  soul, 
Ambrogio." 

There  was  a  silence  after  this;  the  painter  kept  his  eyes 
on  the  darkening  sky. 

Ambrogio  dropped  his  brush  and  rose  with  a  pale  face. 

"  I  can  paint  no  more,"  he  said.  "  I  am  weary." 


i3o  THE   VIPER   OF   MILAN 

His  daughter's  lover  sometimes  puzzled  him.  His  his- 
tory, as  he  had  told  it  to  them,  was  a  very  plain  one,  his 
career  straightforward,  but  Ambrogio's  manner  strangely 
varied:  sometimes  authoritative,  strangely  cold  and 
haughty  for  a  poor  painter;  strident,  sometimes  curious 
and  overawing.  But  to  Graziosa  he  was  always  tender, 
and  she  saw  nothing  now  but  his  pale  face. 

"  No  wonder  thou  art  weary,"  she  said  tenderly.  "  Tis 
a  long  way  from  St.  Joseph,  thy  hand  pains  thee,  and 
thou  hast  had  no  food." 

Ambrogio  stooped  and  kissed  her  upon  her  upturned 
face. 

"  And  I  cannot  stay  for  it  even  to  take  it  from  thy 
hands,"  he  said  with  a  sigh.  "  I  meant  not  to  stay  at  all, 
and  only  came  to  give  thee  thy  bracelet,  sweet ;  but  soon, 
soon  the  altar-piece  will  be  finished,  and  I  come  never 
to  return." 

"  Finished,"  murmured  the  girl,  her  head  against  his 
arm.  "When?" 

"  By  midsummer,  Graziosa.  Is  the  time  so  long  to  thee 
too?" 

"  I  am  so  happy,  Ambrogio,  it  does  not  seem  possible 
I  could  be  happier;  still,  I  think  I  shall  be  when  thy 
altar-piece  is  finished." 

Ambrogio  looked  at  his  painting  longingly. 

"  If  I  could  only  stay,"  he  said,  and  kissed  her  again. 

"Surely  it  is  still  early,  even  for  St.  Joseph?"  said 
Agnolo. 

Ambrogio  glanced  out  into  the  dusky  street,  where 
several  gayly  attired  horsemen  were  riding. 

"  The  Prior  begged  my  early  return,"  he  said.  "  And 
so  farewell,  my  father,  for  a  little  while,  farewell!  " 

"Well,  if  it  must  be,  it  must,"  said  Vistarnini  cheerfully, 
"  thou  wilt  never  fail  for  lack  of  industry.  Still,  Graziosa, 
even  if  thy  lover  goes,  there  is  something  left  to  amuse 


GRAZIOSA'S   LOVER  131 

us.  This  evening  the  nobles  ride  in  to  attend  the  feast 
Visconti  gives  to-night  to  the  French  Duke.  Twill  be  a 
noble  feast,  yet  I  doubt  if  the  Lady  Valentine  be  as  happy 
as  thou  art,  Graziosa." 

But  his  daughter  returned  no  answer,  for  she  was  not 
there,  but  at  the  top  of  the  dark  stairway:  she  was  saying 
farewell  to  her  betrothed;  and  when  Agnolo  turned  from 
the  window,  she  was  leaning  on  his  arm  across  the  court- 
yard, for  a  last  word  at  the  gate. 

"When  comest  thou  again?"  she  whispered. 

"  Thy  father  jeers  me  for  my  industry,  yet  heaven 
knows  what  it  costs  me  to  leave  thee,  sweet.  In  two  days' 
time  I  will  again  be  with  thee." 

They  were  at  the  door,  but  still  he  lingered,  gazing  on 
her  gentle  face. 

"  Farewell,"  he  said  at  last,  with  a  smile.  "  For  two 
days,  my  beautiful  Graziosa."  He  took  her  face  between 
his  hands  and  kissed  her. 

"  Farewell,"  she  smiled,  and  with  a  sudden  effort  he 
was  gone. 

But  once  well  clear  of  the  house,  Graziosa's  lover 
paused  as  if  undecided,  then  drew  his  hood,  and  wrapped 
himself  closely  in  his  mantle  and  walked  rapidly  into  the 
city,  keeping  close  to  the  wall.  After  some  time  he  drew 
the  bandage  from  his  hand  and  flung  it  aside. 

His  left  hand  was  as  whole  as  his  right. 

Again  he  walked  on  rapidly,  until,  at  the  corner  of  a 
quiet  street,  a  man  with  bent  shoulders  and  dressed  in 
black  stepped  from  the  shadow  of  a  building. 

It  was  Giannotto. 

"  News,  Giannotto? "  asked  Graziosa's  lover  in  a 
whisper. 

"  I  am  waiting  for  you,  my  lord,  to  tell  you  they 
are  growing  impatient.  Your  absence  is  causing  sur- 
prise." 


i32  THE   VIPER   OF   MILAN 

Two  horsemen  passed,  and  Ambrogio  drew  his  mantle 
closer  around  him. 

"  No  one  has  seen  thee  waiting  here?"  he  asked. 

"  No,  my  lord,  I  am  too  careful." 

"  Tis  well,"  said  the  other.  "  Lead  on  toward  the 
palace,  Giannotto.  I  will  follow." 


CHAPTER   THIRTEEN 

VALENTINE  VISCONTl'S  TOAST 

I  HE  Visconti  palace  was  brilliant  with  lights  and  gay 
with  the  hum  of  voices. 

Splendidly  attired,  in  all  that  wealth  or  taste  could  de- 
sire, the  French  guests  seemed  to  diffuse  some  of  their 
own  light-hearted  gayety  over  the  somber  abode  of  the 
Visconti. 

The  entrance  stairs  of  fine  white  marble  were  spread 
with  a  purple  silk  carpet,  the  golden  balustrades  inter- 
twined with  roses  emitting  their  fragrance,  and  the  long 
gallery  opening  from  the  stairway  and  lit  by  wide  win- 
dows, deep  set  in  the  stone,  showed  the  long,  low  bal- 
cony smothered  in  myrtles,  lemons,  citrons,  oranges,  and 
gorgeous  flowers,  scented  and  abundant,  filling  the  cor- 
ridors with  the  sense  of  summer  and  mingling  their 
slender  trails  with  the  stiff  folds  of  the  rare  and  costly 
tapestries  that  covered  the  walls  and  were  laid  upon  the 
floor. 

At  intervals  stood  statues,  masterpieces  of  ancient  art, 
faintly  lit  by  the  golden  gJimmer  of  the  swinging  lamps. 

And  all  the  stairs  and  corridors  and  gallery  were  alive 
and  brilliant  with  the  magnificent  guests  of  the  Visconti 
— lords  and  ladies,  the  finest  the  dismantled  court  of 
France  could  boast.  Yet,  used  to  splendors  as  they  were, 
coming  from  the  most  refined  court  of  Europe,  the  costly 
display  made  by  an  Italian  usurper  impressed  them  with 
wonder,  almost  with  awe. 

Tisio  Visconti,  most  richly  dressed  and  adorned  with 
133 


i34  THE   VIPER   OF   MILAN 

all  his  favorite  jewels,  mingled  in  the  throng,  gay  and 
happy,  forgetful  of  everything  save  the  lights  and  the 
colors,  the  kindly  respectful  tones  in  which  he  was 
addressed,  unheeding  the  silent  page  that  followed 
him. 

The  wide,  usually  so  somber,  entrance  of  the  palace 
stood  open  upon  the  street,  and  the  red  flare  of  torches, 
the  gleam  of  richly-caparisoned  horses,  the  bustle  of 
pages  and  men-at-arms,  were  visible  to  the  courtiers 
within,  and  blended  city  and  palace  in  one  splendor. 

"  I  would  the  French  were  always  here,"  cried  Tisio, 
excitedly.  "  I  love  the  palace  to  be  light  and  gay." 

The  gay  flutter  of  silk  and  satin,  the  elegant  grace  of 
the  strangers,  pleased  him,  and  he  smiled  like  a  contented 
child.  But  suddenly  all  the  light  was  struck  out  of  his 
face. 

"  Gian,"  he  said  dully. 

"  The  Duke ! "  the  courtiers  behind  him  took  up  the 
word,  and  the  tattle  of  voices  ceased. 

Gian  Visconti  was  approaching  down  the  gallery,  fol- 
lowed by  several  pages  in  the  Viper's  silver  and  green 
livery. 

He  passed  between  the  rows  of  bowing  courtiers  care- 
lessly; there  were  many  there  of  the  proud  nobility  of 
France  who  found  it  hard  to  stand  silent  and  respectful 
before  this  man,  whose  crimes  alone  were  his  passport 
to  sovereignty. 

To  them  this  marriage  was  a  humiliation,  a  disgrace 
to  the  French  crown,  but  to  Visconti  it  was  a  triumph, 
the  successful  crowning  of  ambition.  He  was  in  a  genial 
mood,  and  as  he  passed  Tisio  stopped  and  smiled,  telling 
him  for  to-night  he  might  go  where  he  pleased. 

It  was  not  too  much  to  spare  to  the  brother  whose 
possessions  he  enjoyed. 

And  as  Visconti  passed  on,  more  than  one  Frenchman 


VALENTINE   VISCONTFS   TOAST         135 

raised  his  eyebrows  and  shrugged  his  shoulders  expres- 
sively as  the  sweep  of  his  scarlet  train  disappeared. 

Among  the  throng  the  ever-ready  secretary  waited  for 
Visconti's  eye  to  fall  on  him,  and  the  Duke,  dismissing 
the  pages,  beckoned  him  forward. 

"  No  news  from  Verona,  or  Mantua?  "  he  asked. 

"  None,  my  lord." 

"  None?  The  messengers  are  late.  But  after  all  why 
should  they  haste?"  said  Visconti.  "Delia  Scala  will 
hardly  be  in  the  field  yet,"  he  added  with  a  smile. 

"  If  ever,  my  lord,"  replied  the  secretary  smoothly. 

The  two  had  withdrawn  into  the  embrasure  of  one  of 
the  great  open  windows,  and  Visconti,  glancing  through 
it,  turned  his  gaze  there  where,  clear  in  the  blue  summer 
night,  rose  the  outline  of  an  abutting  building,  grim  and 
dark  and  silent:  Isotta's  prison. 

"  See  the  guards  be  doubled  there,"  he  said.  The  sec- 
retary bowed. 

"  As  to  the  Lady  Valentine,  my  lord,"  he  said  insinu- 
atingly, "  she  is  safe  and  well,  and  at  her  prayers  with  her 
women.  I  have  kept  guard  upon  her  slightest  motion." 

Visconti  drew  a  ring  from  his  finger.  He  was  in  a  gen- 
erous mood  to-night,  a  rare  one  enough,  as  Giannotto 
thought  with  bitterness. 

"  Take  this  for  thy  pains,"  he  said.  "  And  now  I  will 
relieve  thee  of  thy  watch;  she  can  hardly  escape  under 
my  very  eyes  and  with  her  bridegroom  waiting.  Let  the 
guests  know  I  bring  the  bride,  Giannotto." 

Visconti  withdrew  the  length  of  one  of  the  corridors, 
and  paused  there  at  a  door  before  which  stood  two  sol- 
diers, the  guard  of  his  sister's  apartments.  At  his  soft 
approach  they  stood  back,  and,  opening  the  folding  doors, 
Visconti  passed  through,  and  quickly  threaded  the  de- 
serted ante-rooms  until  he  reached  the  chapel  that  the 
lady  used. 


136  THE   VIPER   OF   MILAN 

The  place  was  dim,  lit  by  red  lamps  that  cast  more 
shadow  than  gave  light,  and  with  high,  stained  windows, 
now  scarcely  showing  color,  and  seated  on  the  floor  under 
one  of  them,  her  head  against  a  carved  wall,  her  hands 
listless  in  her  lap,  was  Valentine. 

She  wore  a  dress  of  flame-colored  satin,  and  her  hair 
was  elaborately  dressed  with  rubies  and  pearls.  She  made 
no  movement  at  her  brother's  entrance. 

The  air  was  heavy  with  incense  and  the  perfume  of 
some  white  roses  that  faded  across  the  altar  steps. 

"  We  wait  for  thee,  Valentine,"  said  Visconti. 

A  couple  of  her  women  moved  forward  from  the  shad- 
ows, and  whispered  to  the  Duke  they  could  do  nothing 
with  her.  He  motioned  to  them  to  withdraw. 

"Valentine,  come!  Think  of  the  splendid  life  that 
opens  before  thee  from  to-day."  Visconti's  tone  had  the 
gentleness  of  one  who  has  gained  his  point.  "  Thou 
may'st  be  Queen  of  France."  But  Valentine  Visconti 
had  too  much  of  her  brother's  spirit,  too  much  of  the 
ungovernable  pride  of  will,  not  to  hate  this  yielding  to 
the  force  of  power.  She  hated  her  brother's  tyranny.  She 
hated  this  marriage.  What  would  life  be  for  her,  with 
an  indifferent  husband,  in  an  idle,  impoverished  court, 
among  foreigners,  strangers,  far  from  her  own  land?  She 
would  not  be  forced  to  it.  She  rose  to  her  feet,  desperate. 

Visconti  watched  her  keenly,  standing  waiting. 

"  Come,"  he  repeated,  "  the  Duke  of  Orleans  waits. 
The  feast  is  ready." 

For  one  moment  a  mad  hate  of  him  overmastered  her, 
a  wild  desire  to  refuse  to  stir,  to  cling  to  the  altar,  dash 
herself  against  the  floor,  anything  rather  than  obey.  She 
knew  his  parricide;  he  was  not  the  elder.  She  would  not 
obey. 

Words  of  defiance  were  on  her  lips,  but  glancing  at 
his  face,  the  words  died  away,  and  a  sense  of  the  useless 


VALENTINE   VISCONTTS    TOAST         137 

folly  of  resistance,  the  useless  humiliation  of  refusal, 
surged  over  her.  She  was  in  his  power.  When  she  spoke, 
it  was  humbly,  in  a  faltering  voice,  with  tears. 

"  Gian,"  she  whispered.  "  Gian — I  have  never  asked 
anything  of  thee  before.  Gian  —  this  marriage  is  hate- 
ful to  me — "  she  paused,  then  stepped  forward  with 
appealing  eyes.  "  Gian  —  have  consideration  —  have 
mercy! " 

"  The  Duke  of  Orleans  waits,"  smiled  Visconti.  "  Will 
you  not  let  me  lead  you  to  him  ?  " 

Valentine  drew  back  and  steadied  herself  against  the 
wall. 

She  thought  of  Conrad  with  bitterness  and  shame,  of 
his  vows  of  devotion,  how  he  had  sworn  she  should  never 
wed  the  French  Prince — and — he  was  free — had  been  so 
for  many  days,  and  never  a  word  or  a  sign. 

Visconti  flung  wide  the  chapel  door,  and  in  the  ad- 
joining room  he  summoned  to  her  side  his  sister's  page. 
Valentine's  eyes  fell  on  him,  and  she  noted  how  the  blood 
rushed  to  his  face  as  he  sprang  to  obey.  He  was  a  fair- 
haired  boy  with  eager  eyes,  who  worshiped  her  with 
a  romantic  devotion  at  which  she  had  often  smiled;  but 
now 

He  lifted  her  train,  and  Visconti  held  out  his  hand. 
Outside  her  door  soldiers  kept  their  motionless  guard, 
and  beyond  the  gay  crowd  swept  to  and  fro.  Silently 
Valentine  moved  forward,  but  her  heart  was  burning  with 
rebellious  hate. 

"  I  will  still  try  once  more  for  freedom,"  was  the 
thought  she  held  to;  and  as  they  traversed  the  great  cor- 
ridor and  her  eyes  fell,  as  had  her  brother's,  on  the  grim 
outline  of  Isotta's  prison,  "  I  will  free  her  too,"  she 
added,  with  a  swelling  heart. 

And  Visconti  thought  her  conquered,  cowed  into  com- 
plete submission,  and  watched  her  pass  ahead  of  him 


1 38  THE   VIPER   OF   MILAN 

down  the  banqueting  chamber  with  a  satisfied  smile  to 
see  her  the  fairest  and  the  proudest  there. 

The  brilliant  courtiers  streamed  in,  a  mass  of  color  and 
jewels,  and  Visconti,  seated  at  the  head  of  the  table, 
glanced  at  the  effeminate  faces  and  frivolous  bearing  of 
the  guests  with  some  contempt. 

"No  news?"  he  whispered  to  Giannotto  behind  his 
chair.    "  No  news  from  Ferrara  yet?  " 

"  None  as  yet,  my  lord.  The  messengers  are  expected 
at  any  moment." 

The  apartment  was  a  blaze  of  wax  candles  that  threw 
a  thousand  dancing  reflections  on  the  elaborate  silver  and 
glass  that  covered  the  table. 

The  bright  light  fell  too  on  the  rubies  on  Valentine  Vis- 
conti's  throat.  She  sat  at  her  brother's  side,  with  a  pale 
face  and  sparkling  eyes.  On  Visconti's  right  was  her 
bridegroom,  the  Duke  of  Orleans,  an  elegant  young  man 
with  weak  eyes  and  a  receding  chin.  His  scanty,  fair 
locks  were  carefully  arranged  with  grease  and  curling 
irons  into  stiff  curls,  the  ends  of  his  mustache  were  elab- 
orately twisted,  and  his  face  was  rouged  plentifully  on 
the  cheeks. 

Valentine  looked  at  him  once,  then  ignoring  him  ut- 
terly, she  looked  down  the  long,  glittering  table  to  the 
great  entrance  facing  her,  with  a  crowd  and  press  of  liv- 
eries and  hurrying  attendants,  waiting  pages.  As  for  the 
French  Duke,  he  conversed  with  Visconti,  ignoring  the 
hardly  hidden  contempt  that  he  was  either  too  dull  to 
see  or  too  politic  to  resent. 

The  banqueting  hall  filled:  and  the  guests  in  their 
seats,  the  secretary,  standing  back  among  the  servitors, 
crept  out  into  the  antechamber.  After  the  glare  and 
splendor  of  the  banquet,  the  room  seemed  dull  and  som- 
ber, and  Giannotto  stumbled  over  a  crouching  figure. 

It  was  Valentine's  page,  weeping  bitterly. 


VALENTINE   VISCONTFS   TOAST         139 

"  Poor  fool!  "  muttered  the  secretary.  "  Wouldst  thou 
lose  thy  place  as  well  as  thy  heart?  "  And  he  passed  on 
with  a  laugh.  But  after  a  pace  or  two  he  paused. 
Through  the  palace  windows  floated  a  sound  as  of  dis- 
tant murmuring  and  commotion,  yet  so  faint  he  could 
scarce  be  sure  of  it. 

The  page  had  risen,  shamefaced  at  having  been  discov- 
ered. He  was  very  young,  and  his  grief  very  real  to 
him.  He  choked  a  little,  stifling  his  sobs. 

"Silence!"  said  Giannotto  angrily.  "Listen!"  The 
sound  grew  nearer  and  more  distinct,  and  the  secretary 
went  to  the  window  nearest  and  leaned  forward  eagerly. 

Several  horsemen  and  soldiers  came  riding  swiftly, 
holding  flaming  torches ;  windows  were  flung  open,  peo- 
ple hurried  to  and  fro. 

"  Some  evil  news  has  got  abroad,"  said  Giannotto, 
straining  eyes  and  ears. 

And  now  the  noise  of  angry  shouts  and  frightened 
cries  became  too  plain,  and  the  secretary  could  see  by  the 
flare  of  some  horsemen's  torches  a  throng  of  country  folk, 
laden  with  their  possessions,  and  some  men  driving  herds 
of  cattle,  and  soldiers  torn  and  dusty. 

"  Evil  news,  indeed,  I  fear,"  he  muttered,  and  waited 
anxiously. 

A  ray  of  brilliant  light  from  the  banquet  hall  beyond 
fell  between  the  curtains  and  streamed  across  the  room, 
there  was  laughter  and  clink  of  glasses,  and  a  voice 
singing  in  French  to  a  lute.  The  page  clenched  his  fists 
and  turned  to  go. 

"  Stay,"  said  Giannotto,  "  stay.  If  thou  wouldst  end 
thy  days,  here  comes  a  chance,  methinks,  for  some  one 
will  have  to  carry  ill  news  to  Visconti."  And  even  as  he 
spoke  a  white-faced  servant  entered. 

"  My  lord,"  he  cried,  as  Giannotto  stepped  before  him, 
"  there  has  been  some  sore  disaster — the  country  folk 


i4o  THE   VIPER   OF   MILAN 

are  trooping  through  the  gates — there  is  a  panic  in  the 
city." 

"The  messengers!"  cried  Giannotto,  "the  messen- 
gers!" 

"  The  messengers  have  not  returned — but  there  are 
plenty  bringing  news  who  were  not  sent  for  them,  my 
lord."  And  as  the  man  spoke,  a  disordered  group,  sol- 
diers and  servants,  pressed  into  the  room  behind  him. 

"  Gently,  my  friends,"  said  Giannotto,  checking  their 
agitated  outcry  and  pointing  to  the  curtains  that  hid  the 
banqueting  hall.  "  The  Duke!  " 

A  man,  dusty  and  white-faced,  forced  himself  out  of 
the  crowd,  small,  but  swelling  every  moment. 

"  I  bear  news  the  Duke  must  hear,"  he  said,  "  and 
quickly." 

"Where  hast  thou  come  from?"  asked  the  secretary. 
"What  is  thy  news?" 

"  Since  daybreak  I  have  been  flying  for  my  life — I  am 
a  servant  in  the  garrison  at  Brescia — it  is  destroyed," 
gasped  the  man. 

"  Brescia ! "  The  echo  of  horror.  "  Has  Brescia 
fallen?  " 

"  Aye,  fallen — into  Delia  Scala's  hands." 

Giannotto  looked  around  bewildered,  incredulous. 

"  Delia  Scala  at  Brescia?"  he  said.  "  You  dream!  " 

But  the  room  was  filled  now  with  a  wild-faced  crowd 
that  would  not  be  kept  back,  and  from  every  side  echoed 
the  evil  tidings. 

"  Brescia — at  dawn  to-day  Delia  Scala  whirled  down 
on  us,  flushed  with  victory — and  in  two  hours  the  town 
fell." 

"  And  Visconti  thinks  him  idle  at  the  d'Este's  court!  " 
broke  from  Giannotto. 

And  the  crowd  filled  the  chamber  with  the  whisper  of 
dismay  and  horror,  but  from  the  banqueting  room  still 


VALENTINE   VISCONTI'S    TOAST         141 

came  the  song  and  the  laughter — Visconti  was  in  blissful 
ignorance  of  evil.  Who  could  tell  him?  Who  would  dare? 

Well  Giannotto  knew  the  fall  of  Brescia  could  be  only 
the  last  of  a  series  of  incredible  disasters ;  so  swift  as  to 
seem  miraculous.  Victory  after  victory  must  have  fallen 
to  Delia  Scala  before  he  could  have  marched  on  and 
taken  a  place  so  near  Milan ;  victories  following  too  fast 
on  one  another  to  have  reached  Visconti  before  their  cul- 
mination. The  news  indeed  was  terrible! 

Who  would  enter  the  banqueting  hall? 

All  shrank. 

"  Tis  almost  certain  death,"  they  muttered,  and  Gian- 
notto smiled. 

"  The  Duke  carries  deadly  weapons." 

As  he  spoke  the  curtains  were  pulled  aside  for  a  mo- 
ment as  one  of  the  serving  men  stepped  out,  and  Gian- 
notto, bending  eagerly  forward,  caught  a  glimpse  of  two 
faces  at  the  far  end  of  the  brilliant  table. 

Visconti's,  laughing,  triumphant,  insolently  handsome, 
and  Valentine's,  set  and  white,  with  dangerous  eyes. 

The  curtains  fell  to  again,  but  Giannotto  had  a  thought. 

"  Leave  it  to  me,  good  friends,"  he  said,  and  passed 
into  the  hall. 

"  The  Lady  Valentine  shall  give  the  news ! "  That 
was  the  secretary's  inspiration.  "  The  Duke  dare  not 
touch  her,  and  it  will  be  a  pleasure  to  her  that  she  may 
reward."  And  the  crowd,  gathering  in  the  anteroom, 
waited,  bewildered  and  terrified,  to  hear  the  blow  had 
fallen. 

"  They  will  stop  their  song  and  jest,"  said  the  man 
from  Brescia,  "  let  the  Duke  once  know — "  The  entry 
of  another,  panting  and  torn,  interrupted  him. 

"Heaven  save  Milan!"  he  gasped.  "Verona  has 
fallen!" 


i42  THE   VIPER   OF   MILAN 

The  snouts  and  clatter  from  the  courtyard  had  pene- 
trated faintly  to  the  banqueting  hall,  and  Visconti  paused 
a  moment,  listening. 

Valentine  listened  too,  and  thought  of  Conrad. 

But  the  noises  died  away,  and  Visconti  turned  to  the 
Duke  of  Orleans  with  a  laugh. 

"  My  soldiers  revel  in  your  honor,"  he  said,  "  and  we 
will  drink  my  sister's  health,  my  lord." 

Valentine's  breast  heaved.  Who  was  he,  to  dare  to 
sacrifice  her  to  his  pride  and  greed?  She  would  not  suf- 
fer it.  Was  she  not  also  a  Visconti?  " 

As  in  a  dream  she  heard  her  health  drunk;  as  in  a 
dream  she  saw  the  Duke  of  Orleans'  foolish  look  turned 
toward  her  in  vacant  admiration;  then  suddenly,  with  a 
start,  she  noticed  Giannotto's  crafty  face.  Valentine's 
eyes  blazed  with  sudden  purpose.  She  looked  down  to- 
ward the  entrance,  and  saw,  between  the  curtains,  white 
faces  peering  and  figures  half-thrust  forward. 

"The  Duke  of  Orleans!"  cried  Visconti,  and  the 
guests  again  rose.  Valentine  rose  also,  with  inspired 
eyes  and  crimsoned  cheeks. 

"The  Duke  of  Orleans!"  she  cried,  lifting  her  glass, 
and  at  the  first  words  she  had  spoken  they  stood  silent, 
in  an  uneasy  expectation.  "  Will  the  Duke  of  Orleans 
wait,  Visconti,  while  I  give  a  still  nobler  toast?"  Her 
voice  rose  triumphant.  At  her  words,  at  the  mad  defiance 
of  her  bearing,  Visconti  stood  amazed. 

"  Here  is  to  the  one  who  has  taken  Brescia  and  Verona, 
even  from  thee,  Visconti;  here  is  to  the  brave  soldier 
who  now  marches  on  Milan — Mastino  della  Scala!  " 

And  she  raised  her  glass  high,  and  then  turned  and 
flung  it  at  Visconti's  feet. 

"  The  news  is  true,"  she  said,  "  and  now  kill  me  for  it." 

And  with  a  stifled  cry  Visconti's  hand  was  on  his  dag- 
ger, but  d'Orleans  flung  himself  upon  him,  and  caught 


VALENTINE   VISCONTI'S   TOAST         143 

him  by  the  wrists.  Visconti  glanced  at  him,  and  at  the 
startled  company,  not  grasping  what  had  happened,  and 
then  the  cry,  begun  no  one  knew  where,  went  in  a  grow- 
ing volume  around  the  hall. 
Verona  has  fallen!  " 

It  circled  around  the  table,  it  passed  from  lip  to  lip. 
from  the  white-faced,  surging  crowd  to  the  brilliant 
guests,  and  the  company  broke  into  confusion,  and  looked 
into  each  other's  eyes  with  terror. 

"  Verona  has  fallen!  " 

"  A  lie !  "  thundered  Visconti.  "  A  lie !  my  sister  has 
gone  mad.  Who  says  the  word  again  shall  die !  " 

"  My  lord/'  said  Giannotto,  "  listen  " :  and  into  the 
sudden  hush  within  came  the  wild  hubbub  of  the  panic- 
stricken  city. 

"Verona  is  fallen!  Delia  Scala  marches  fast  on 
Milan ! " 


CHAPTER   FOURTEEN 

THE  TUMULT   AT   THE   WESTERN   GATE 

MASTINO  DELLA  SCALA  with  his  army  lay  at 
Serio,  a  hamlet  boasting  a  small  eminence  crowned  with 
a  strongly  built  but  insignificant  castle.  Some  ten  miles 
farther  Brescia  was  held  by  Julia  Gonzaga's  army.  Only 
a  few  weeks  had  passed  since  Delia  Scala,  falling  first  on 
Verona,  and  taking  it,  had  marched  on  Milan  and  almost 
snatched  it  from  Visconti's  unsuspecting  hold.  But  the 
alarm  given  at  Valentine's  wedding-feast  had  come  in 
time.  With  almost  superhuman  energy,  in  two  hours' 
time  Visconti  armed  the  walls  and  put  the  city  in  defense. 
To  surprise  a  victory  was  impossible.  Still,  the  Duke 
of  Verona's  army  was  only  some  fifteen  miles  from  the 
walls,  and  day  by  day  drew  nearer. 

Visconti,  from  the  height  of  proud  security,  was  sud- 
denly, by  one  move,  placed  in  a  position  dangerous  in- 
deed. The  towns  and  domains  behind  Milan,  from  that 
city  to  Turin,  were  still  his,  as  were  Pavia  and  Piacenza, 
but  from  Brescia  to  Verona,  and  from  Modena  to  Lom- 
bardy,  save  for  a  few  scattered  towns  and  forts  held 
desperately  by  Visconti's  men,  the  whole  was  in  the 
hands  of  Delia  Scala  and  his  allies.  Still  Milan  was  not 
in  a  state  of  siege:  men  and  supplies  hurried  in  from 
Novara,  Vercelli,  and  other  towns  in  the  Visconti's  do- 
minions, and  powerful  aid  was  coming  to  the  Duke  of 
Milan's  assistance  from  the  Empire. 

Yet  in  Visconti's  eyes  this  aid,  needful  as  it  was,  was 
144 


THE   WESTERN    GATE  145 

dearly  bought,  for  Charles  IV.,  though  an  ignoble  ruler 
and  laughed  at  by  his  subjects,  was  of  an  honorable, 
open  disposition,  and  related  by  marriage  to  the  Estes, 
and  the  one  condition  on  which  he  was  dispatching  to 
Visconti's  service  his  soldiers  stationed  in  Switzerland 
and  on  the  borders,  was  that  Isotta  d'Este  should  be 
untouched. 

In  the  bitterness  of  his  rage,  Visconti  wished  he  had 
already  slain  her ;  now,  in  truth,  he  dare  not.  It  was  no 
question  now  of  gratifying  an  ambition,  it  was  simple 
fear  of  losing  his  own  throne,  fear  of  being  in  his  turn 
reduced  to  what  he  had  reduced  Delia  Scala,  that  made 
him  respect  the  wishes  of  the  Empire,  and  the  feeling 
of  the  French  who  thronged  his  court. 

And  the  thought  that  he  could  not  play  the  best  card 
tyrant  ever  held,  was  rendered  doubly  bitter  by  the  fact 
that  Delia  Scala  knew  him  to  be  helpless  and  Isotta 
safe. 

Scheming  in  his  crafty  soul  for  means  to  outwit  Mas- 
tino,  Visconti  thought  of  Giacomo  Carrara,  who  held 
Padua,  Treviso,  Cremona,  Vicenza.  He  was  Delia  Scala's 
ally,  but  a  man  of  no  upright  soul. 

"  Could  I  gain  him,"  thought  Visconti,  in  his  musings, 
"  I  could  stand  without  the  Empire,  without  France,  and 
use  my  captive  as  I  please  and  not  as  they  dictate." 

To  the  Estes  and  Julia  Gonzaga  he  gave  no  thought ; 
well  he  knew  they  were  not  likely  to  desert  Mastino — but 
Carrara 

Meanwhile,  he  threw  his  whole  strength  against  the 
opposing  army,  keeping  it  at  bay,  gaining  time — and 
planning. 

But  Mastino  della  Scala's  object  was  not  to  lose  time 
in  idle  skirmishes.  Brilliant  success  had  fallen  to  his 
share,  not  one  reverse  had  marred  his  short  campaign, 
and  it  is  not  the  policy  of  the  victor  to  dally  with  time, 


146  THE   VIPER   OF    MILAN 

rather  to  seize  the  chances  each  day  offers,  while  yet 
fortune  smiles  on  him. 

But  well  Delia  Scala  knew  that  neither  honor,  nor  pity, 
nor  shame,  but  fear  alone,  would  restrain  Gian  Maria 
Visconti  from  venting  his  hatred  on  Isotta  d'Este. 

Still,  he  kept  up  a  stout  heart.  Visconti  dare  not !  To 
make  assurance  doubly  sure,  he  used  all  his  influence 
at  the  court  of  Rome  to  procure  the  aid  of  the  Church 
against  the  Duke  of  Milan. 

Many  a  time  had  he  rendered  powerful  help  to  the 
Pope,  and,  as  his  present  position  stood,  might  do  so  yet 
again ;  and  the  result  of  his  appeal  was  a  grave  embassy 
from  the  Pope  to  Visconti,  threatening  him  with  excom- 
munication and  the  sword  of  the  Church  should  he  dare 
to  touch  Isotta  d'Este. 

For  the  first,  Visconti  cared  little;  twice  had  the 
Church  thrown  him  out,  and  each  time  he  had  laughed 
at  it  and  emerged  triumphant;  but  now  his  position  was 
more  perilous  than  it  had  ever  been  since  he  mounted  the 
throne  of  Milan,  and  he  dare  not  treat  this  mandate  of 
the  Church  as  he  had  done  the  others. 

The  Pope's  temporal  power  too  was  great;  were  that 
once  turned  against  him,  even  with  the  Empire's  aid  he 
could  hardly  stand ;  so  Visconti  answered  them  with  fair 
words,  pledging  his  honor  for  the  Duchess  of  Verona's 
life. 

One  bright  summer  morning,  Visconti  sat  at  the  open 
window  of  his  palace,  thinking. 

At  the  other  end  of  the  room  the  Duke  d'Orleans  and 
Tisio  were  playing  at  chess;  between  these  two,  during 
the  Duke's  enforced  stay  in  Milan,  a  friendship  had 
sprung  up,  and  Visconti,  weary  of  his  foolish  guest,  was 
well  pleased  a  foolish  brother  should  take  him  off  his 
hands. 

The  Frenchman  was  prepared  at  once  to  carry  out  the 


THE   WESTERN    GATE  147 

contract,  marry  Valentine,  and  depart  for  France,  but 
Visconti's  pride  would  not  permit.  The  Duke  d'Orleans 
had  witnessed  a  reverse,  he  should  behold  a  triumph. 
Valentine  should  leave  Italy  as  befitted  his  sister,  not  fly 
from  it  as  a  fugitive ;  and  the  French  prince,  who  in  a  few 
weeks  had  yielded  to  Gian's  subtle  influence  and  learned 
both  to  fear  and  obey  Visconti,  assented  meekly  to  delay, 
and  whiled  away  the  time  as  best  he  might. 

Visconti  sat  so  motionless  and  silent  that  the  chess- 
players were  forgetful  of  his  presence,  and  their  voices 
rose  high. 

"  My  move,"  said  Tisio  gleefully.  "  See,  the  rook  take 
your  knight." 

"  Your  rook  could  take  my  knight,"  returned  d'Or- 
leans, "  if  it  were  your  move,  but  as  it  is  mine " 

"  You  are  not  watching  the  game,"  was  the  angry 
rejoinder. 

"  Your  pardon,  my  move,"  said  the  Frenchman  calmly, 
and,  with  a  smile  on  his  vacant  face,  he  swept  up  one  of 
Tisio's  men. 

"  My  move — and — mate,  M'sieu." 

With  a  cry  of  childish  rage,  Tisio  snatched  at  the 
board,  spilling  the  men  onto  the  floor. 

"  I  love  not  to  play  with  you,"  he  cried.  "  I  would 
Count  Conrad  were  here,  he  was  the  one  to  play  with." 

D'Orleans  laughed. 

"  Because  he  always  let  you  win,  M'sieu  ?  "  he  said. 

Tisio  began  to  whimper  with  annoyance,  calling  loudly 
on  Valentine. 

Visconti,  aroused,  drew  the  curtains  aside,  and  stepped 
forward. 

D'Orleans  was,  at  his  appearance,  a  little  flurried.  It 
was  impossible  for  his  weak  brain  to  meet  those  eyes  and 
not  feel  flurried. 

"  Tisio  and  I  are  fallen  out  again,"  he  said  feebly. 


148  THE  VIPER  OF   MILAN 

Visconti  looked  at  him  coldly. 

"  I  would  remind  you,  my  lord,  Tisio,  though  an  in- 
fant, is  my  brother." 

"  Gian ! "  cried  Tisio,  suddenly  noticing  him.  "  Gian ! 
it  was  my  move !  " 

"  Whether  it  was  thy  move  or  no,  it  does  not  please 
me  thou  shouldst  be  annoyed — remember  it,  my  Lord 
Duke  " ;  and  he  turned  into  his  inner  room.  As  he  closed 
the  door,  his  long  brooding  showed  in  his  face.  It  was 
lined  and  anxious.  The  position  was  a  dizzy  one:  a  peri- 
lous one:  his  dark  dress  concealed  the  gleam  of  chain 
armor. 

His  enemies  were  many,  and  some  powerful,  and  Vis- 
conti took  no  chances. 

At  his  side  hung  a  dagger,  long  and  sharp,  and  his  fin- 
gers were  often  on  the  hilt  in  readiness.  At  his  old  place 
sat  Giannotto. 

"  I  have  decided,"  said  Visconti.  "  I  will  attempt 
Carrara." 

"  You  think  he  is  to  be  bought,  my  lord  ?  " 

"  I  think  he  is  to  be  bought,"  responded  Visconti.  "  At 
any  rate  we  will  try.  He  and  his  force  are  with  Delia 
Scala?" 

"  And  fifteen  miles  outside  our  walls,"  said  Giannotto  ; 
then  at  the  look  on  the  Duke's  face,  he  was  sorry  he  had 
spoken,  and  shrank  together. 

"  Read  what  is  on  the  parchment,"  said  Visconti ;  and 
the  secretary,  glad  to  have  been  let  off  so  easily,  unwrapt 
the  roll. 

Therein  Visconti's  bribe  was  plainly  set  forth : 

The  town  of  Cologna,  near  to  Padua,  and  well  forti- 
fied, the  protection  and  close  alliance  of  Milan,  and  the 
service  of  ten  thousand  trained  mercenaries,  together 
with  the  right  to  trade  free  of  toll  in  Visconti's  do- 
minions  


THE   WESTERN    GATE  149 

"And  a  pair  of  turquoise  gloves,"  added  Visconti, 
with  a  change  of  tone. 

Giannotto  glanced  up. 

"  Are  they  not  worth  three  hundred  ducats  ? "  said 
Visconti,  smiling.  "  Did  not  the  Pope  and  Emperor  both 
wish  to  buy  them,  and  fail  ?  " 

Giannotto  bowed  his  head  over  again  and  studied  the 
scrip  in  silence. 

Visconti  watched  him  keenly. 

He  thought,  "  I  know  he  would  betray  me  for  a  ducat ! 
— if  I  were  not  Visconti." 

He  turned  to  the  narrow  window,  and  looked  out  onto 
the  city  spreading  beneath  him. 

"  The  Empire,"  he  muttered  to  himself.  "  The  Empire 
and  the  French — I  will  awe  them  and  humor  them  while 
I  must — but  let  me  once  gain  Carrara — as  I  shall — I 
can  dispense  with  them  and  deal  with  Delia  Scala  as 
I  list." 

He  turned  from  the  window  to  Giannotto,  and  his  face 
had  lost  its  lines. 

"  Well  ?  "  he  asked.  "  What  think  you  ?  " 

"  This  is  a  master-stroke  of  temptation,  my  lord.  You 
have  always  found  craft  a  good  servant." 

"  It  would  not  serve  me  well  in  thee,"  said  Visconti 
with  a  sudden  glance.  "  Now,  see  to  it  that  parchment  is 
dispatched,  Giannotto,  and  by  a  trusty  messenger,  and 
with  no  delay." 

"  I  will  give  it  to  Ricardo  with  my  own  hands,  my 
lord,"  said  Giannotto.  "  He  is  the  best  man  we  have 
since  Filippo  was  wounded  this  morning  in  a  skirmish  by 
the  western  gate." 

"  The  western  gate  ?  "  Visconti  looked  up  quickly. 

"  It  was  not  worth  while  bringing  to  your  notice,  my 
lord.  A  band  of  the  enemy's  soldiers  have  been  skirmish- 
ing there." 


150  THE   VIPER   OF   MILAN 

"  They  were  beaten  off  without  harm  to  anyone  within 
the  gates  ?  " 

"  The  gates  were  not  forced,  nor  anyone  injured — or 
I  should  have  acquainted  you,  my  lord,"  and  he  waited 
for  possibly  some  mark  of  appreciation;  but  the  Duke 
motioned  curtly  to  the  roll  he  held,  and  Giannotto  crept 
out  with  bowed  shoulders.  As  the  tapestry  fell  into  place 
behind  him,  Visconti  approached  the  black  bureau  be- 
tween the  windows,  and  unlocked  one  of  the  long 
drawers. 

In  its  dusky  recess  lay  a  gold  box,  and  Visconti  took  it 
out,  handling  it  carefully. 

The  light  fell  in  a  straight  shaft  from  the  narrow  win- 
dow, on  the  delicate  chasing  of  the  casket,  as  Visconti 
placed  it  on  the  table,  and  as  he  turned  the  key  and  the 
lid  flew  back,  it  gleamed  on  the  emeralds  and  diamonds 
of  an  elaborate  coronet,  exquisitely  enameled  and 
pointed. 

Every  inch  was  covered  with  precious  stones:  each 
point  tapering  into  a  delicate  tracery  of  gold,  as  fine  as 
lace. 

Visconti  drew  a  chair  to  the  table,  and  leaned  back  in 
it,  his  eyes  upon  the  jewels;  so  absorbed  was  he,  he  did 
not  heed  the  opening  door  nor  Tisio's  entrance. 

And  Tisio  scarcely  saw  his  brother,  for  joy  at  the  little 
coronet,  so  brilliant  in  the  sun's  straight  ray. 

"  How  dost  thou  come  here,  Tisio  ?  "  asked  his  brother, 
startled;  but  at  sight  of  Tisio's  vacant,  foolish  face,  he 
sank  back,  and  noticing  his  joy,  he  smiled — for  Tisio 
was  crazed,  and  remembered  nothing  of  even  the  things 
that  gave  him  pleasure.  "Dost  thou  like  it?"  he  con- 
tinued, gratified  at  the  delight  in  his  brother's  eyes.  "  Thy 
taste  in  goldsmiths'  work  is  good,  Tisio." 

"  'Tis  beautiful,  Gian,  wondrous  beautiful ! "  cried 
Tisio  in  rapt  admiration. 


THE   WESTERN    GATE  151 

"  I  bought  it  with  the  price  of  half  a  city,"  said  Gian. 
"  And  hold  it  cheap." 

The  words  had  no  meaning  for  Tisio,  as  his  brother 
knew:  he  only  voiced  his  own  pride  in  the  lovely  bauble. 

"  And  wilt  thou  wear  it  ?  "  asked  Tisio. 

The  Duke  laughed  good-humoredly. 

"  Not  I,  Tisio ;  still  soon — when  Delia  Scala's  crushed 
— thou  shalt  see  it  worn  by  some  one — some  one  whose 
face  will  outshine  these  stones,  Tisio." 

"  Whose  will  it  be?  "  asked  his  brother  childishly. 

"  A  lady,  Tisio ;  and  when  this  coronet  is  on  her  head, 
she  will  be  Visconti's  wife  and  the  Duchess  of  Milan !  " 

He  paused  on  the  word,  and  looked  at  Tisio ;  but  there 
was  no  wonder  in  his  brother's  eyes,  his  gaze  held  by  the 
flashing  stones. 

"  Now,  by  Saint  Mark ! "  cried  Visconti  suddenly. 
"  This  is  no  time  to  be  maundering  with  a  toy  and  an 
idiot." 

He  put  the  little  coronet  back  and  locked  the  casket. 

"  How  comest  thou  to  be  alone,  Tisio  ?  Where  is  thy 
page?" 

As  he  spoke  he  returned  the  casket  to  the  bureau.  Tisio, 
in  eager  curiosity,  looked  over  his  shoulders  into  the 
open  drawer.  There  lay  the  turquoise-colored  gloves. 

"  Oh !  "  cried  Tisio  joyously.  "  The  beautiful,  beauti- 
ful gloves ! " 

And  before  Gian  could  stop  him,  he  had  caught 
them  up. 

Visconti  snatched  them  from  him;  at  the  same  mo- 
ment came  a  clamoring  upon  the  door.  It  was  Giannotto 
knocking  lustily. 

"  Now,  who  beats  down  the  door  ?  "  cried  the  Duke, 
and  waiting  for  no  further  summons,  Giannotto  entered. 
The  Duke,  starting,  thrust  the  turquoise  gloves  into  his 
doublet. 


152  THE   VIPER   OF   MILAN 

"  What  is  it  now,  Giannotto  ?  Did  I  not  say  that  I  was 
coming?" 

"  My  lord,  it  presses.  De  Lana  would  see  you — there 
has  been  fierce  fighting  outside  the  walls — the  army 
clamors  for  you " 

"  Lead  the  way,"  said  Visconti  shortly ;  and,  preceded 
by  his  secretary,  he  returned  hastily  toward  his  council 
chamber. 

The  anteroom,  brilliant  in  pink  stone  and  gold,  the 
great  hall  itself,  flaring  in  painted  walls  and  dazzling 
stained-glass  windows,  were  full  of  people — courtiers, 
soldiers,  artists,  and  craftsmen. 

Gian  Visconti  kept  neither  the  open  court  nor  the  free 
table  of  his  father;  he  was  neither  lavish  in  his  hospi- 
tality, save  when  it  suited  his  own  ends,  nor  liberal  in 
his  rewards;  still  he  loved,  encouraged,  and  jealously  ex- 
acted the  homage  of  all  artists.  Woe  be  to  the  painter  or 
poet  who  took  his  painting  or  poetry  to  any  other  in 
Milan  save  the  Duke  himself ! 

There  were  many  there  to-day,  eager-eyed  atnong  the 
throng,  among  them  the  German  architect  of  the  glori- 
ous new  church;  but  to-day  Visconti  passed  unheeding 
through  them.  The  city  was  at  war. 

He  stepped  into  the  council  chamber  unannounced,  fol- 
lowed solely  by  Giannotto. 

The  great  gilt  ornate  room  was  full  of  Milanese  and 
foreigners,  allies  or  guests  of  Visconti. 

"  You  look  grave,  my  lords,"  cried  Visconti,  his  gray 
eyes  wide,  "  and  fearful.  I  had  not  thought  you  of  so 
poor  a  courage.  Yet,  since  you  are  so  faint  of  heart,  I 
come  to  tell  you  from  my  own  lips  that  I  ride  against 
Verona  to-day!  Have  you  forgotten,  my  lords,  that  a 
Visconti  still  rules  Milan  ?  " 

There  was  no  answer  from  the  splendid  throng;  they 
had  complained  much  of  late — but  not  to  his  face. 


THE   WESTERN    GATE  153 

"  Have  you  no  thanks  for  so  much  comfort?  "  laughed 
Visconti.  "  Let  all  those  who  may  care  to  follow  make 
them  ready,  and  let  those  who  care  not — stay  to  make 
us  welcome  from  a  victory.  Come,  De  Lana." 

He  turned  away  with  his  hand  on  his  favorite  cap- 
tain's arm. 

To  a  man  the  crowded  assembly  flocked  to  follow. 

"  Ah !  "  Visconti  turned  again. 

"  A  crushed  foe  is  scarcely  to  be  feared !  Have  I  not 
set  my  standard  in  the  market-place  of  Verona?  Have 
I  not  dragged  a  hostage  from  Delia  Scala's  palace? 
Lords  of  Milan,  am  I  not  Visconti?  " 

With  one  voice  they  broke  into  loud  shouts. 
To  the  city  walls !  to  the  city  walls !  Down  with  Delia 
Scala !  To  the  city  walls !  " 

And  while  the  cry  still  sounded,  before  the  enthusiasm 
could  abate,  Visconti,  armed  and  mounted,  rode  at  the 
head  of  some  thousand  mercenaries  and  Milanese,  to  the 
farthest  rampart  of  the  city. 

D'Orleans  had  not  volunteered.  The  French  duke  re- 
mained in  the  well-guarded  palace,  of  which  the  Lady 
Valentine  was  left  the  governor  during  the  Duke's  ab- 
sence, an  office  she  had  often  filled  before  quarrels  had 
sprung  up  between  her  and  her  brother,  and  while  he 
held  Milan  against  his  father  and  she  was  his  counselor 
and  ally. 

For  a  few  brief  hours,  power  again  was  hers,  for  Vis- 
conti had  not  weakened  her  authority  yet — outwardly  at 
least.  She  could  do  nothing. 

She  thought  of  her  helplessness  with  bitterness.  All 
day  long  she  set  herself  to  revolving  schemes  of  escape 
— some  way  whereby  to  avail  herself  of  the  confusion 
into  which  Milan  had  been  thrown — some  means  to  out- 
wit her  brother. 

She  could  not  rest  for  her  anxious  thoughts.  The  Vis- 


i54  THE   VIPER   OF   MILAN 

conti  palace  was  near  the  walls,  and  Valentine,  stepping 
onto  the  open  balcony,  looked  through  the  clustered 
pillars  over  the  flat  house-roofs  to  the  distant  country 
where  the  advancing  army  lay. 

The  air  was  heavy.  From  the  streets  came  the  sound  of 
tumult,  noise,  and  hurry :  the  walls  were  manned. 

"  There  is  to  be  some  fighting,"  murmured  Valentine. 

She  shaded  her  eyes  from  the  sun  that,  beating  on  the 
red  brickwork  of  the  palace,  gave  back  a  blinding  glare. 

"  Oh,  may  God  grant  that  victory  may  fall,"  she  mur- 
mured, "  where  Count  Conrad  draws  his  sword !  " 

It  was  evening  before  Visconti  returned,  weary  from 
his  survey  of  his  men,  victorious  after  a  fierce  skirmish 
with  some  of  Verona's  mercenaries,  led  by  Mastino's 
trusted  Captain  Roccia. 

The  palace  that  till  then  had  lain  so  quiet  was  sud- 
denly a  wild  confusion,  a  babel  of  noises,  shouts,  and 
trampling  of  horses. 

Strange,  flaring  lights  were  thrown  across  the  court- 
yard ;  the  torches  flung  ragged,  straggling  rays  upon  the 
sides  of  the  palace,  falling  grotesquely  on  the  griffins 
that  grinned  either  side  the  arched  door,  falling  across 
the  long  rows  of  straight  windows,  and,  for  a  second, 
on  Valentine  Visconti's  pale  face,  looking  eagerly  below. 

"  Dogs  of  Veronese !  "  cried  Visconti,  turning  his  wild 
eyes  toward  the  prisoners.  "  They  have  cost  us  a  wild 
hour!" 

And  he  had  been  in  the  thick  of  it ;  his  rich  armor  was 
dented,  the  embroidered  surtout  torn  to  rags :  Visconti's 
blood  was  up.  In  a  fight,  even  the  Torriani  could  not  say 
he  lacked  anything  save  prudence. 

Without  alighting,  he  took  from  his  head  his  pon- 
derous helmet  with  the  viper  crest,  and  gave  it  to  his 
page. 

"  We  have  given  Roccia  a  taste  of  our  quality !  "  he 


THE   WESTERN    GATE  155 

laughed,  and  pulled  his  gauntlets  off.  "  Where  is  De 
Lana?" 

"  I  am  here,  lord,"  said  Giannotto. 

He  stood  at  the  Duke's  saddle,  looking  around  him  in 
confusion. 

"  What  news,  Giannotto?  "  cried  Visconti.  "  Thy  pallid 
face  seems  too  ready  to  welcome  me.  Let  me  dismount." 

"  Hear  me  first,"  entreated  the  secretary,  "  before  you 
dismount — before  anything — lord !  " 

"  Quick  with  thy  news  then — stand  back,  De  Lana,  I 
must  hear  this  rogue." 

Giannotto  drew  closer. 

"  My  lord,  at  noon  to-day,  Rinalta,  the  Tuscan  cap- 
tain, rode  in.  While  Roccia  was  engaging  you,  some 
mercenaries  forced  one  of  the  gates,  and  before  they 
could  be  driven  back,  a  house  was  broken  into,  some 
prisoners  made " 

The  Duke  fixed  his  widening  eyes  upon  the  speaker, 
and  Giannotto  shrank. 

"What  gate?"  he  asked.  "What  house?  What  pris- 
oners ?  " 

"  The  western  gate,  lord,  and  Agnolo  Vistarnini's 
house!" 

With  a  sound  of  fury  Visconti  struck  at  his  secretary 
violently,  with  the  ends  of  his  bridle. 

"  And  I  was  not  told  before !  " 

"  It  was  held  too  small  a  fray,  lord,"  said  the  secre- 
tary. "  Could  I  tell  my  Lady  Valentine  one  gate  was 
more  to  you  than  another?  I  besought  her  to  send  to 
you — I  besought  them  all — could  I  tell  them  why  ?  " 

Even  as  he  spoke  De  Lana  rode  up  resolutely. 

"  More  men  are  needed  at  the  western  gate,"  he  said ; 
"  the  Germans  have  returned.  I  will  lead  them." 

"  No!  "  cried  Visconti ;  "  I,  De  Lana." 

The  soldier  looked  surprised. 


156  THE   VIPER   OF   MILAN 

"  You,  lord  ?  There  is  no  need " 

"  It  is  my  will,"  Visconti  answered  fiercely.  "  At  once, 
to  the  western  gate !  " 

At  his  cry  the  soldiers  flung  themselves  again  into  the 
saddle,  and  those  who  still  sat  their  horses  gathered  up 
their  reins. 

"  Your  helmet,  lord,"  cried  the  startled  squire ;  but  Vis- 
conti swept  him  aside  and  rushed  bareheaded  forward, 
De  Lana  and  his  troop  of  horsemen  after  him  in  a  wild 
riot  of  sound  and  light. 

Giannotto  stood  bewildered  in  the  doorway;  nothing 
left  of  the  wild  tumult  that  had  filled  the  spaces  save 
echoing  shouts  and  tramping  hoofs. 

"  Visconti  is  mad,"  he  thought.  "  He  has  ridden  off  al- 
most unarmed!  Now — I  wonder  what  may  happen  be- 
fore he  return  from  the  western  gate — the  night  is  dark 
and — dangerous." 

And  with  a  thoughtful  glance  up  at  the  cloudy  sky, 
Giannotto  slowly  withdrew. 


CHAPTER    FIFTEEN 

A   PRISONER   FROM    MILAN 

MASTINO    DELLA   SCALA  was    proving  himself. 
He  had  come  to  within  fifteen  miles  of  Milan. 

Verona  was  his  again ;  that  was  in  itself  enough  to 
justify  his  allies'  confidence. 

Of  them  Julia  Gonzaga's  force  and  Ippolito  d'Este's 
army  lay  at  Brescia,  ready  at  any  moment  to  advance. 

Delia  Scala's  position  lay  nearer  Milan,  and  by  far  the 
larger  half  of  his  support  was  Carrara,  Duke  of  Padua's 
contingent,  led  by  the  Duke  in  person. 

Between  the  two  forces,  a  quarter  of  a  mile  outside 
Delia  Scala's  camp,  was  the  castle  of  Brescia,  at  one 
time  an  occasional  residence  of  Barnabas,  Visconti's 
father,  and  now  a  gloomy  fortress,  with  an  evil  reputa- 
tion; for  Barnabas,  driven  from  Milan  by  his  son,  had 
died  there — with  his  wife — of  fever  it  was  said.  In  a 
gorgeous  tent  in  the  midst  of  Delia  Scala's  camp  sat  Con- 
rad von  Schulembourg  and  the  younger  d'Este. 

It  was  the  slumbrous  hour  after  noon;  the  air  heavy 
with  an  approaching  storm,  and  Conrad  lounged  lan- 
guidly on  a  low  divan,  playing  with  his  dagger.  The  war, 
although  success  had  fallen  to  his  leader,  had  already 
begun  to  weary  this  indolent  cavalier,  and  even  the  sight 
of  Milan  in  the  distance,  where  Valentine  was  impris- 
oned, could  not  keep  him  from  whining  at  the  hardness 
of  his  fate.  A  parchment  lay  near  him  on  the  seat,  and 
from  time  to  time  he  made  some  pretense  of  looking  at 
it:  pretense  only. 

i57 


158  THE   VIPER   OF    MILAN 

In  Delia  Scala's  force  Conrad  held  third  command 
under  the  Duke  of  Padua,  who  was  immediately  under 
Mastino;  but  Conrad's  post  was  largely  a  sinecure,  for 
though  in  the  battle  the  Count's  gallant  courage  roused 
Delia  Scala's  warmest  praise,  he  recognized  that  his  ca- 
pacity for  generalship  was  small. 

None  the  less  Delia  Scala  trusted  him  completely.  His 
heart  full  of  his  one  object,  elated  by  his  successes, 
eagerly  keeping  his  allies  together,  Delia  Scala  had  small 
leisure  to  notice  Conrad's  stifled  yawns  when  the  coun- 
cil of  war  was  held,  or  the  fact  that  he  gave  more  thought 
to  playing  cards  and  chess  with  Vincenzo  than  to  the 
discipline  and  efficiency  of  the  men  under  his  orders. 

For  the  fiftieth  time  he  put  the  parchment  down  and 
turned  to  Vincenzo,  who  lay  along  the  floor,  eating  nuts 
and  hurling  the  shells  at  the  legs  of  the  sentry  visible 
through  the  flaps  set  wide  back  for  coolness.  To  make 
the  soldier  jump  at  a  telling  shot  was  more  just  then  to 
Vincenzo  than  the  taking  of  Milan. 

"  I  would  there  were  some  one  else  to  read  these  dis- 
patches," said  Conrad.  "  I  love  not  this  part  of  soldier- 
ing. When,  think  you,  will  there  be  another  city  to  be 
taken,  Vincenzo?  " 

"  There  was  fighting  yesterday  outside  Milan,"  re- 
turned the  boy.  "  Thou  shouldst  have  gone." 

"  I  asked  the  Prince  to  let  me,  but  as  usual  I  was  bade 
stay  at  my  post."  And  Conrad  rose  with  a  sigh  of  out- 
raged virtue  and  adjusted  the  points  of  his  rose-colored 
doublet. 

"  Asked  the  Prince ! "  mocked  Vincenzo ;  "  thou 
shouldst  have  gone  without  asking  him." 

"  A  dash  on  the  walls,"  said  Conrad,  "  that  is  what 
we  need,  not  this  idleness  and  skirmishing.  I  long  to 
grasp  my  sword  and  fly  to  my  Lady  Valentine's  rescue — 
but  the  Prince " 


A    PRISONER   FROM    MILAN  159 

"  Tell  me  not/'  said  Vincenzo.  u  I  know  Mastino  al- 
ways counsels  prudence,  and  I  am  weary  of  it." 

"  The  Prince  knows  more  of  it  than  we,  doubtless," 
admitted  Conrad.  "  Nevertheless  these  parchments  may 
wait  while  I  have  a  game  of  chess  with  thee." 

"  May  they,  Count  Conrad  ?  And  is  chess  thy  notion 
truly  ? "  said  Mastino's  voice  without,  and  unannounced 
he  entered  the  tent,  followed  by  Tomaso's  father,  Giorgio 
Ligozzi. 

He  was  from  head  to  foot  in  armor. 

His  eyes  fell  on  Vincenzo,  and  his  face  darkened. 

"  For  shame,  Vincenzo,"  he  said,  with  scorn.  "  Thou 
art  no  longer  a  child,  to  indulge  in  these  page's  tricks, 
and  much  I  marvel  Count  Conrad  should  allow  thee 
such  license." 

Vincenzo  rose  sullenly. 

"  Leave  us,"  continued  Delia  Scala  with  angry  eyes. 
"  And  learn  from  yonder  soldiers  to  play  the  man,  and 
wear  a  leathern  jacket  with  more  grace  than  a  silken 
doublet.  I  am  ashamed  of  thee,  Vincenzo." 

D'Este's  beautiful  face  flushed  crimson. 

"  Tis  not  always  the  leathern  jacket  comes  out  best 
at  time  of  need,  my  lord,"  he  said  defiantly.  "  Try  me  in 
it  in  a  fight." 

Delia  Scala's  glance  softened;  he  laid  his  hand  on  the 
boy's  shoulder  gently. 

"  Thou  art  a  d'Este  and  my  brother,  Vincenzo.  I  do 
not  fear  thy  behavior  in  battle,  only  learn  the  harder 
part — to  bear  thyself  while  waiting." 

Vincenzo  was  melted,  but  not  caring  to  show  it  before 
Conrad,  left  the  tent  without  reply. 

"  He  hath  the  makings  of  a  soldier  in  him  for  all  his 
willfulness.  I  pray  you  pardon  his  present  idleness,  my 
lord,  and  hold  me  as  the  cause,"  said  Conrad.  "  I  should 
have  roused  him  sooner." 


160  THE   VIPER   OF   MILAN 

Mastino  glanced  around.  It  was  the  first  time  he  had 
entered  the  German's  abode,  and  the  lavishness  of  its 
appointments  were  not  to  his  taste. 

u  This  is  an  hour  of  great  need,  Count,"  he  said 
gravely.  "  The  downfall  of  Visconti  cannot  mean  to  you 
what  it  does  to  me — it  cannot  mean  so  much  to  any  man 
— but  am  I  not  right  in  thinking  it  means  all  to  you  to 
see  the  Lady  Valentine  Visconti  free  ?  " 

"  All !  All  I  care  for  under  heaven.  By  all  the  saints, 
Prince,  I  will  give  my  right  arm  to  serve  your  cause, 
since  it  serves  her,"  cried  Conrad. 

Delia  Scala's  brown  eyes  observed  him  keenly. 

"  I  will  ask  a  service  of  you,  Count,"  he  said ;  "  not 
thy  right  hand,  nor  any  feat  of  knight-errantry,  but 
something  full  as  difficult  to  render." 

"  Even  if  it  be  living  on  roots  in  a  dungeon,  I  will 
do  it!" 

And,  excited  at  the  thought  of  some  adventure,  Count 
Conrad  waited  expectantly,  his  hand  upon  his  sword. 

The  Prince  smiled  sadly. 

"  I  fear  it  is  a  harder  task  than  that,  Count  Conrad, 
and  so  distasteful  that  I  would  not  burden  you  with  it 
were  there  any  other  worthy  to  entrust  with  it,"  he  said. 
"  But  all  the  men  here  are  mercenaries — Captain  Van- 
vitelli  is  a  boor ;  Ligozzi  goes  with  me  to  Brescia,  whither 
I  am  instantly  bound  to  confer  with  Ferrara." 

"  Prince,  I  am  proud  to  execute  your  commands,"  in- 
terrupted Conrad  eagerly. 

Delia  Scala  turned  to  Ligozzi,  who  stood  silent  behind 
him. 

"See  that  no  one  listens,"  he  said;  and  as  Li- 
gozzi disappeared  and  Mastino  drew  nearer  to  him, 
the  Count  fell  back,  impressed  by  the  eagerness  of  the 
noble  face. 

But  the  Prince  took  him  by  the  hand  affectionately. 


A   PRISONER   FROM    MILAN  161 

"  Dost  thou  remember  the  huts  outside  thy  villa,  Con- 
rad— and  Francisco  who  rescued  thee?  I  am  giving  thee 
a  trust.  For  his  sake  wilt  thou  be  faithful  ?  " 

"To  the  death!"  cried  Conrad.  "Prince,  I  will  be 
faithful  to  the  death !  " 

"  Count,"  said  Mastino  earnestly,  "  I  return  from 
Brescia  to-morrow,  bringing  d'Este  up  with  me  to  join 
in  an  assault  on  Milan  that  will  make  the  city  ours,  I 
trust,  within  a  week.  Of  necessity  I  leave  Carrara  for 
these  hours  in  command — almost  all  the  men  are  his 
providing — but,"  his  voice  sank  still  lower,  "  I  do  not 
completely  trust  him — I  doubt  his  loyalty.  I  have  mis- 
givings as  to  the  use  he  may  make  of  my  absence,  there- 
fore," he  paused  and  laid  his  hand  on  Conrad's  shoulder, 
"  I  leave  you,  Count  von  Schulembourg,  privately  in 
charge.  Watch  him — never  leave  him  out  of  your  sight 
till  my  return." 

"  Good !  I  understand !  I  swear !  "  cried  Conrad  again. 

Mastino  Delia  Scala  looked  into  his  eyes. 

"  I  trust  thee,"  he  said  simply.  "  Thou  knowest  how 
my  wife's  safety  lies  on  my  soul — and  if  Carrara  play 
false,  we  are  well-nigh  ruined.  These  weeks  have  I  had 
him  under  Ligozzi's  eyes,  day  and  night,  and  now  thou 
must  take  my  place."  Conrad  kissed  Mastino's  hand  in 
silence,  his  emotional  nature  overcome  to  tears. 

"  Come,  my  lord,  the  time  wears,"  said  Ligozzi,  and 
Delia  Scala  turned  to  leave. 

At  the  entrance  he  looked  back. 

"  Remember,  I  trust  thee,  and  thee  solely,  Conrad," 
he  said.  As  he  dropped  the  flap  behind  him,  he  turned  to 
Ligozzi. 

"  Will  he  be  worthy  of  it,  Ligozzi  ?  "  he  said.  "  But  I 
must  perforce  trust  him  when  there  is  no  other." 

Outside  the  Duke's  tent,  his  escort  was  in  readiness  to 
start,  and  his  white  horse  stood  waiting,  held  by  Tomaso. 


162  THE   VIPER   OF   MILAN 

"  After  all,  my  lord,"  whispered  Ligozzi,  *  Carrara 
may  not  be  false." 

Mastino  shook  his  head.  "  He  only  waits  the  opening," 
he  said.  "  What  does  console  me,"  he  added,  "is  that  I 
shall  be  back  to-morrow."  And  he  looked  toward  Milan 
as  he  spoke. 

"  Ligozzi,"  he  continued  wistfully,  "  how  long  the  time 
seems  since  I  saw  her.  The  last  words  I  heard  her  speak 
are  forever  in  my  ears :  '  While  thou  livest  I  fear  noth- 
ing ' ;  and  I  live,  Ligozzi.  Sometimes  I  am  ashamed 
of  it!" 

"  You  live  to  free  her,  my  lord,"  said  Ligozzi  softly. 

Mastino  mounted  in  silence.  "  Yes,  I  live  for  that,"  he 
said,  after  the  pause. 

He  turned  and  saw  Tomaso  watching  him. 

"  Yes,  thou  shalt  come  with  us,"  he  smiled ;  "  only 
mount  in  haste.  The  time  wears  on." 

At  this  moment,  foremost  among  a  little  group  of 
horsemen,  Carrara  cantered  toward  him,  black-eyed, 
smiling,  richly  dressed^  a  plumed  cap  between  his  smooth 
white  fingers. 

"  Farewell,  Carrara,"  said  Mastino.  "  Count  von  Schu- 
lembourg  is  second  in  command.  I  leave  all  to  your  dis- 
cretion, subject  to  my  orders  already  given. 

Giacomo  bowed,  but  made  no  reply  other  than  his 
smiling  eyes.  His  meditated  treasons  were  ripe  for  exe- 
cution, and  he  could  scarce  contain  himself  at  the  good 
fortune  of  it;  Visconti's  messenger  had  reached  him  the 
same  day  that  Delia  Scala  rode  away.  There  remained 
only  Conrad. 

"  Till  to-morrow  at  noon,"  murmured  Carrara,  repeat- 
ing Delia  Scala's  last  words,  as  he  watched  him  ride 
away.  "  An  attack  on  Milan,  in  less  than  a  week !  You 
are  mad  for  a  woman's  silly  face — in  less  than  a  week 
I  shall  have  joined  Visconti." 


A   PRISONER   FROM    MILAN  163 

Visconti  understood  the  art  of  bribery,  and  knew  whom 
to  bribe.  Carrara,  only  waiting  in  the  hope  of  it,  had 
caught  eagerly  at  the  bait,  and  by  the  returning  messen- 
ger had  agreed  to  join  Visconti  and  leave  Delia  Scala 
shorn  of  more  than  half  his  forces.  And  Mastino,  by  his 
absence,  had  made  it  child's  play.  As  Carrara  returned 
now  to  his  own  tent,  thinking  and  scheming,  a  captain 
of  mercenaries  galloped  up. 

"  The  prisoners,  my  lord,  captured  by  some  of  Count 
von  Schulembourg's  men,  in  the  scuffle  outside  Milan 
yesterday,  are  being  brought  into  the  camp— is  it  to  you 
or  to  him  we  bring  them  ?  " 

Carrara  fingered  his  bridle. 

"  Take  them  to  the  castle,"  he  said  at  last.  "  I  myself 
will  see  them  presently." 

He  glanced  over  his  shoulder  at  Count  Conrad's  tent. 
The  embroidered  entrance  was  closed,  the  black  and 
yellow  eagles  fluttered  idly  over  it — there  was  no  sign  of 
the  young  German. 

The  Duke  of  Padua  smiled. 

"  Are  those  the  prisoners  ?  "  he  asked,  pointing  to  a 
little  group  of  soldiers  guarding  a  few  men. 

"  Yes,  my  lord.  We  had  almost  forced  the  gates — when 
a  band  rushed  out  and  there  was  a  desperate  struggle; 
we  were  driven  back,  and  these  fellows,  in  the  heat  of 
victory,  followed  too  far.  Then  we  turned  and  had 
them,  and  brought  them  in  for  ransom.  They  seemed 
worth  it." 

"  I  will  go  and  view  them,"  said  Carrara  suddenly,  and 
he  cantered  his  horse  toward  the  little  group. 

The  noise  of  the  prisoners'  arrival  was  spreading,  still 
there  was  no  sign  of  Count  Conrad,  and  again  the  treach- 
erous Carrara  smiled.  But  in  a  moment  more  the  smile 
had  faded.  He  noticed  among  the  prisoners  a  face  he 
surely  knew. 


i64  THE   VIPER   OF   MILAN 

Prudence  was  Giacomo  Carrara's  ruling  quality,  and 
helped  him  now  to  keep  his  wits. 

"  That  fellow  yonder,"  he  said,  pointing,  "  he  with  the 
red  hair — who  is  he  ?  Has  he  told  his  quality  ?  " 

"  'Twas  he  who  led  the  chase,"  was  the  answer, 
"  screaming  like  a  madman.  He  is  the  squire  of  some 
nobleman,  and  gave  out  he  thought  we  had  his  master 
captive." 

Carrara  breathed  heavily. 

"  I  know  something  of  him,  unless  I  much  mistake ;  a 
dangerous  rogue  and  spy — place  him  apart,  well  guarded 
— in  a  separate  compartment.  Pinion  him.  To-night  we 
will  put  him  to  the  question." 

And  again  he  glanced  toward  the  German's  tent.  Con- 
rad had  not  appeared,  and  the  prisoners  wound  away  out 
of  sight  into  what  was  once  Barnabas  Visconti's  summer 
residence,  and  where  Barnabas  Visconti  not  long  since 
had  died. 


CHAPTER   SIXTEEN 


FOR   A   GAME  OF    CHESS 


THE  day  was  wearing  into  evening  when  Conrad  gave  a 
last  look  in  the  little  polished  mirror  hanging  on  the 
tapestried  walls  of  his  tent,  and  prepared  to  set  out  on  a 
tonr  of  inspection,  including  a  visit  to  Carrara,  who  in 
this  moment's  interval,  he  thought,  could  not  have  gone 
astray. 

Delia  Scala  had  been  gone  four  hours  or  more,  but  to 
the  light-hearted  German  it  seemed  he  had  only  an  in- 
stant ago  turned  from  his  tent. 

He  had  employed  the  time  in  writing  some  verses  (in 
imitation  of  the  fashionable  Petrarch,  a  production  with 
which  he  was  perfectly  satisfied,  and  put  aside  to  be  fair 
copied  by  some  one,  a  better  adept  in  spelling  than  him- 
self), in  teaching  Vittore  to  dance,  and  in  changing  his 
doublet. 

Count  Conrad  was  very  careful  of  his  doublets.  He  had 
?.  great  many,  and  kept  them  carefully  locked  in  the 
large  coffer  that  stood  at  the  head  of  his  tent  bed. 

The  one  he  donned  to-day  was  elegant  in  the  extreme ; 
peacock  purple  over  an  under  garment  of  rose,  curiously 
slashed  with  cream.  Vittore,  who  had  become  his  page, 
was  silent  at  the  magnificence. 

Conrad  sighed  as  he  smoothed  the  ruffles  at  his  wrists 
to  think  that  it  might  not  be  the  latest  mode.  He  felt  far 
from  civilization,  though  only  twice  seven  miles  outside 
Milan,  and  secretly  regretted  that  Valentine  Visconti  had 
dazzled  him  into  the  imprudence  of  losing  her  broth- 
er's favor  and  with  it  the  joys  of  a  splendid  court.  Still 

165 


166  THE   VIPER   OF   MILAN 

he  had  exquisite  leathern  shoes  with  points  a  yard  long, 
caught  up  and  fastened  by  a  chain  to  his  knee;  also  a 
cap,  garnished  with  a  ruby  and  a  curling  feather,  and, 
taking  it  from  Vittore,  he  stepped  out  to  begin  his  es- 
pionage of  Carrara. 

"  Vittore,  follow  me,"  he  said.  "  I  have  it  in  trust  to 
see  this  black-browed  duke  gets  into  no  mischief.  Also," 
he  continued,  "  'tis  in  my  mind  to  find  Vincenzo.  Delia 
Scala  was  severe  this  noon.  I  fear  me  the  boy  has  gone 
to  practice  sword-play." 

The  camp  was  quiet  and  tranquil.  It  struck  Conrad, 
however,  that  many  of  Carrara's  men  were  engaged  with 
their  horses  and  in  packing  the  wagons ;  but  carried  on 
so  openly,  in  broad  daylight,  it  aroused  no  suspicions  on 
the  part  of  the  easy  Von  Schulembourg,  who  made 
toward  Carrara's  tent,  singing  gayly. 

The  air  was  heavy,  the  sky  black  about  the  horizon. 

"  There  will  be  a  storm  to-night,  Vittore.  Let  me  see, 
art  thou  afraid  of  thunder  ?  "  and  as  he  spoke,  the  Count 
passed  without  ceremony  into  Carrara's  tent. 

The  Duke  was  there,  but  not  expecting  Conrad,  and 
as  he  raised  his  eyes  at  his  sudden  entrance,  his  look 
would  have  struck  any  save  the  light-hearted  fop  as 
strained  and  anxious;  but  the  German  had  personally 
no  doubt  of  Carrara,  and  the  Duke's  ready  smile  deceived 
him  utterly. 

"  So  your  men  move  to-night,  my  lord  ? "  he  said. 
"  The  Prince  never  mentioned  it  to  me." 

"  It  was  a  final  resolve,"  answered  Carrara.  "  I  have 
my  orders  here,"  and  he  tapped  a  parchment  beside  him. 

"  Ah !  "  Conrad  never  even  took  the  parchment  up,  but 
glanced  through  the  opening  of  the  tent  at  the  threaten- 
ing sky.  "  You  move  nearer  Milan,  of  course  ?  " 

Giacomo  kept  his  black  eyes  on  the  floor. 

"  Nearer  Milan,"  he  replied.  "  Yes ;  but  we  do  not 


FOR   A   GAME   OF   CHESS  167 

break  camp  until  the  morning,  Count.  You  and  the  rest 
remain  here  to  join  the  Prince."  Carrara  looked  also  out 
into  the  thunder-laden  air,  but  not  at  the  sky — at  the 
castle,  frowning  black  above  the  encampment. 

"  An  officer  of  mine,"  said  Conrad  carelessly,  "  said 
something  to  me  of  some  prisoners." 

"  Yonder  at  the  castle,  Count.  Will  you  question  them 
with  me?  "  asked  Giacomo  smoothly. 

H  Question  them !  "  laughed  the  Count.  "  You  may 
have  that  task,  my  lord! — and  I  shall  know  then  where 
you  are,"  he  added  under  his  breath. 

Carrara  kept  his  eyes  down,  lest  even  Conrad  should 
see  the  excitement  in  them. 

"  Possibly  even  I  may  not  question  them  to-night, 
Count,"  he  returned  with  a  smile.  "  I  intend  to  rest  now, 
as  we  march  at  dawn." 

Conrad  rose,  with  a  pleasant  feeling  of  having  done  his 
duty,  though  in  his  heart  a  little  annoyed  that  Delia 
Scala  had  not  trusted  him  with  the  movement  of  the 
army. 

"  The  thought  of  his  wife  has  made  him  crazy,"  he 
said  to  himself.  "  Giving  Giacomo  credit  for  treachery, 
still  he  entrusts  him  with  orders  he  withholds  even  the 
knowledge  of  from  me."  And  leaving  Carrara,  he  went 
in  search  of  Vincenzo. 

Giacomo  sat  silent  till  the  Count's  laughter  had  died 
away  in  the  distance,  then  rose  with  a  passionate  ex- 
clamation at  his  own  luck  and  Mastino's  blindness. 

Without  a  question  the  Count  (left  in  trust,  Carrara 
knew  as  plainly  as  if  he  had  been  told)  had  swallowed 
his  lies,  and  left  him  to  do  as  he  pleased  while  he  reveled 
with  Vincenzo  d'Este.  Seeking  the  entrance  once  more, 
Carrara  looked  out  into  the  heavy  evening. 

In  that  great  castle  Visconti  was  a  prisoner. 

Though  with  his  own  eyes  he  had  seen  Gian  Visconti 


168  THE   VIPER   OF   MILAN 

bound  between  the  soldiers,  he  could  not  rest  for  his 
impatience  to  see  him  again  and  have  it  confirmed  before 
any  other  eyes  should  recognize  this  rare  prize. 

To-night  Carrara's  army  was  to  desert  to  Milan.  That 
had  been  already  arranged  with  Visconti's  disguised  mes- 
senger. It  should  still  desert,  but  Visconti  was  now  a 
prisoner,  his  life  in  Carrara's  hands — there  must  be 
slightly  other  terms  between  them. 

To  be  in  a  position  to  dictate  to  such  a  man !  Giacomo 
stood  in  the  gathering  dusk,  waiting  for  the  dark,  his 
eyes  on  the  castle  that  held  Gian  Galeazzo  Maria  Vis- 
conti, Duke  of  Milan — a  prisoner. 

"  The  storm  nears :  how  hot,  good  St.  Hubert,  how 
hot ! "  And  Conrad  tossed  the  damp  curls  back  from  his 
forehead.  The  entrance  of  his  tent  was  flung  open  to 
admit  what  little  air  there  might  be,  showing  to  the  sol- 
diers without  Conrad  and  Vincenzo  bending  over  a  game 
of  chess ;  on  a  table  near  were  flasks  of  wine  and  elegant 
glasses;  along  the  floor  Vittore  lay,  half  in  a  heavy 
sleep. 

The  tent  was  lit  by  jeweled  lamps,  and  by  their  dull 
light  Vincenzo's  beauty  shone  with  an  almost  unearthly 
brilliancy.  He  was  clothed  in  white,  his  thick  black  hair 
falling  about  his  shoulders. 

Evidently  Mastino's  reproof  was  already  forgotten.  He 
leaned  forward  with  flushed  cheeks  and  parted  lips,  eager 
and  intent  on  a  victory  at  chess ;  war  and  the  price  of  it 
far  from  his  thoughts. 

"Hark!"  said  Conrad.  "Thunder!" 

A  low  rumble  filled  the  tent,  d'Este  took  no  heed. 

"  I  take  thy  knight,"  he  said,  "  it  ruins  thee." 

Conrad  laughed,  he  did  not  take  the  game  so  seriously. 

"  I  will  visit  Carrara,"  he  said,  rising,  "  and  go  the 
rounds." 


FOR   A   GAME   OF   CHESS  169 

"  Thou  wilt  finish  the  game,"  said  Vincenzo  angrily. 
"  Does  it  pall  the  moment  thou  failest  to  win  ?  " 

"  My  faith,  I  fail  when  it  palls.  But  doubtless  thou  wilt 
win  yet,  if  thou  dost  not  grow  too  hot,"  and  Conrad 
fanned  the  boy  with  the  points  of  his  sleeves. 

Vincenzo's  lustrous  eyes  flashed. 

"  Doubtless  I  shall,  Count,"  he  drew  from  his  finger  an 
emerald  ring,  "  and  I  will  stake  this  on  it." 

He  dropped  it  on  the  table  with  a  rattle,  and  Conrad 
was  animated  at  once. 

"  And  I  this,"  he  cried,  "  my  forfeit  if  the  game  is  not 
mine  in  four  moves !  " 

He  placed  his  pearl  thumb-ring  beside  Vincenzo's 
emerald. 

"  Four  moves !  "  cried  Vincenzo  scornfully,  and  leaned 
back  with  shining  eyes.  Conrad  reached  for  the  glasses 
with  a  glance  of  good  humor  at  the  dozing  page. 

"  A  night  from  the  infernal  regions ! "  he  said,  as  he 
poured  out  the  wine.  "  How  does  Visconti  feel  to-night  ? 
Methinks  some  kinsfolk  of  his  from  below  are  abroad." 

Vincenzo  emptied  his  glass  and  moved. 

Conrad  emptied  his  and  counter-moved.  "  I  hope  thy 
emerald  was  not  a  lady's  gift,"  he  laughed. 

Vincenzo  bit  his  lip,  reflected  long,  and  moved  again. 

Conrad  turned  to  the  slender  flasks  and  lifted  them, 
one  after  the  other ;  empty  all. 

»  Vittore !  "  he  called.  "  Vittore !  " 

The  boy  rose,  rubbing  his  eyes,  half-dazed. 

"  Bring  us  more  wine,  Vittore."  Conrad  turned  to  the 
board  again  and  laughed  at  Vincenzo's  intent  face.  "  My 
move,"  he  said ;  his  plump  hand  hesitated  scarcely  a 
breath.  "  Check,  Messer  Vincenzo." 

"  This  is  no  light  to  play  by,"  cried  Vincenzo,  and  in 
annoyance  he  moved  with  too  little  thought. 

Conrad  waited  provokingly  till  fresh  wine  had  been 


i7o  THE   VIPER   OF    MILAN 

brought  and  drunk,  patted  Vittore's  head,  and  turned  to 
the  game  again. 

"  Mate,  Messer  Vincenzo,  in  three  moves."  And  he 
leaned  back  with  the  calm  air  of  a  conqueror. 

Vincenzo  rose  in  a  passion,  dashing  his  glass  to  the 
ground. 

"  I  question  thy  fair  play,"  he  cried. 

"  And  I  thy  discretion,"  returned  the  Count,  and  his 
eyes  were  suddenly  wrathful.  "  Thou  art  a  child,  and 
canst  not  play ;  and  so  like  a  child  cry  out :  '  You  cheat.'  " 

"  I  said  no  word  of  cheating,"  returned  Vincenzo.  "  Is 
the  accusation  one  you  are  accustomed  to,  Count  Con- 
rad?" 

Conrad  crimsoned.  "  Play  another  time  with  thy 
equals,  boy,  and  take  better  care  not  to  insult  thy 
betters ! " 

"  Betters ! "  And  Vincenzo  laughed  in  reckless  scorn, 
his  hand  on  his  toy-like  dagger.  "  A  d'Este  demeans 
himself  to  play  with  thee — thou  German  upstart !  " 

But  Conrad  was  to  be  moved  no  more.  With  a  smile 
more  provoking  than  any  reply  he  picked  up  the  rings 
and  slipped  them  on  his  finger. 

But  Vincenzo,  hot-tempered  and  passionate,  sprang 
forward  with  boyish  passion. 

"  Thou  shalt  not  have  the  emerald,"  he  cried. 

"  Must  I  fight  for  it  ?  "  smiled  Conrad,  and  glanced  at 
Vincenzo's  little  dagger.  "  The  emerald  seems  worth  it 
— only  I  should  be  afraid  of  hurting  thee."  And  as  he 
spoke  he  poured  out  more  wine,  drinking  it  gracefully. 

"  I  will  fight  only  with  an  equal,"  said  Vincenzo. 

Conrad  turned  on  him,  and  for  all  his  smile  his  blue 
eyes  were  dark.  "  Thou  reckless  boy !  "  he  said.  "  The 
Germans  are  the  lords  of  Italy.  What  is  thy  family  but  a 
fief  to  the  Emperor?  " 

Vittore  had  watched  the  scene  in  terror.  Tomaso  had 


FOR   A   GAME   OF   CHESS  171 

let  him  know  Delia  Scala  had  left  Schulembourg  in  trust, 
and  he  felt  his  master  was  hardly  acting  as  the  Duke  had 
meant.  In  childlike  fashion,  eager  to  stop  the  quarrel,  he 
spoke  his  thoughts. 

"  My  lord,"  he  said,  "  shall  I  not  accompany  you  to  the 
Duke  of  Padua's  tent,  as  the  Prince  commanded  ?  " 

"  Commanded !  "  cried  Vincenzo,  catching  at  the  words. 
"  Aye,  Count  Conrad,  remember  my  brother's  com- 
mands ! " 

*  I  remember  none,"  returned  the  Count  haughtily. 
"  What  dost  thou  mean,  boy  ?  " 

But  Vittore  lost  his  courage  under  the  angry  glance. 

"  Only,  my  lord,  what  you  said,"  he  stammered, 
"  about  keeping  watch  upon  the  Duke  of  Padua." 

"So  you  were  left  as  a  spy?"  sneered  Vincenzo,  "is 
that  it?  Make  haste,  Count  Conrad,  hurry  to  Carrara's 
tent  as  you  were  told,  and  see  what  he  is  doing." 

Conrad,  flushed  with  wine,  allowed  the  boyish  sneer  to 
goad  him  into  fury. 

"  I  play  the  spy  at  no  one's  bidding,"  he  said.  "  I  do 
not  leave  my  tent  to-night."  And  he  flung  himself  on  the 
couch. 

"  But  what  did  the  Duke  order?  It  will  go  ill  with  you 
when  he  hears  of  disobedience,"  sneered  Vincenzo. 

"  Let  it  go  well  or  ill,  I  will  not  leave  my  tent  to-night 
on  any  errand,  save  I  choose."  And  Count  Conrad's 
words  were  heard  by  another  than  Vincenzo  and  Vittore, 
Giacomo  Carrara,  who  listened  outside. 

The  storm-wind  was  beginning  to  howl  and  the  rain 
to  fall  in  heavy  drops,  but  the  Duke  of  Padua  only 
thanked  his  good  fortune  for  such  propitious  weather,  as 
he  turned  away  and  made  rapidly  toward  the  castle  to 
question  the  prisoners. 


CHAPTER   SEVENTEEN 

THE   TERRORS   OF   THE   NIGHT 

1  HE  storm  had  risen,  the  low  whispering  of  the  wind, 
the  distant  rumbles  of  the  thunder,  gathering  unheeded, 
burst  suddenly  into  a  tempest. 

Its  very  fury  spoke  it  brief,  yet  many  cowered  and 
shrank  before  it,  as  if  its  termination  must  be  the  termi- 
nation of  the  world.  And  to  no  one  did  it  strike  more 
fear  than  to  the  solitary  prisoner  in  the  castle  of  Brescia 
— Gian  Visconti.  In  obedience  to  Carrara's  orders,  he  had 
been  placed  in  a  separate  chamber,  as  far  from  the  other 
prisoners  as  space  allowed.  His  chamber  was  a  circular, 
vault-like  space,  once  serving  as  antechamber  to  a  gloomy 
suite  of  rooms  beyond,  in  which  Barnabas  Visconti  had 
chosen  to  beguile  the  summer  heat.  The  doors  of  this 
suite  were  locked;  Gian  Visconti  himself  had  locked 
them,  when  he  and  his  father  last  came  there  together. 
This  vault-like  room  was  high  and  ill-lit,  and,  in  the 
blackness  of  the  storm,  pitch  dark.  Visconti  sat  under- 
neath one  of  the  windows,  whither  he  had  dragged  the 
wooden  stool,  the  sole  furniture  the  place  contained ;  his 
face  was  buried  in  his  hands,  and  he  writhed  in  horror. 

The  wind  howled  and  tore  at  the  locked  doors,  making 
them  creak  and  groan;  the  thunder  shook  the  building; 
and  at  every  fresh  convulsion  Visconti  shrieked  aloud  in 
unison. 

The  lightning,  flashing  blue  through  the  crevices, 
seemed  to  play  about  that  inner  door,  and  he  cowered 

172 


THE    TERRORS   OF   THE   NIGHT        173 

from  the  sight,  and  bit  at  his  fingers  in  a  fierce  en- 
deavor to  resist  the  madness  seizing  him. 

It  was  not  so  very  long  ago  that  he  had  turned  the 
great  key  behind  him  in  that  ponderous  door,  and  ridden 
from  the  deed  he  had  done,  shouting  through  the  mid- 
night. He  thought  then  never  to  return,  and  here  he  was, 
thrust  in  alone,  and  his  madness  on  him.  Visconti  stag- 
gered from  his  seat,  groping  blindly. 

The  blackness  seemed  to  whirl  with  faces  and  clutch- 
ing, tearing  fingers ;  he  knew  not  where  he  was — he 
could  see  nothing — blackness  and  space — seemingly  un- 
bounded. 

Another  flash  revealed  to  him  that  he  had  drawn  near 
that  inner  door — in  the  instant  it  was  visible;  it  seemed 
to  open  and  shut — quickly. 

Visconti  fell  back  against  the  wall,  and  wrestled  with 
his  terrors  as  if  they  were  some  living  thing,  and  again 
with  savage  teeth  he  bit  into  his  flesh. 

But  the  floor  was  opening  beneath  him,  opening  into 
gulfs  deep  and  still  deeper,  bottomless. 

"  I  am  mad!  "  said  Visconti,  and  shrieked  and  howled 
with  the  storm.  It  did  not  help  him;  he  heard  hurrying 
feet  through  all  the  alarm  of  the  tempest,  hurrying  to 
him  behind  that  locked  door.  Let  him  not  look,  for  what 
he  feared  to  see  the  dark  could  not  conceal — and  now 
they  were  at  the  door,  and  now  they  were  fitting  a  key. 

•  Keep  away !  "  he  yelled. 

Then  he  stood,  hushed,  with  bated  breath,  eyes  starting 
into  the  blackness,  listening.  And  through  the  dark  he 
heard  the  creaking  and  twisting  of  the  key,  the  slow 
opening  of  a  heavy  door,  the  groaning  of  the  hinges  as  it 
opened,  slowly. 

The  wind  howled  in  a  wild  gust,  and  suddenly  through 
the  narrow  window  there  showed  the  black  sky  torn  in 
two  by  the  lightning  flash.  As  it  circled  the  chamber, 


i74  THE   VIPER   OF   MILAN 

Visconti  raised  his  head  —  the  door  was  open.  And 
through  the  opening  two  faces  peered — they  were  not 
human  faces — Visconti  knew  them  when  they  were. 

Utter  blackness  followed  upon  the  vivid  flash,  and  the 
thunder  crashed  and  rolled,  and  at  last  the  rain  came 
with  a  mighty  roar. 

"  I  am  in  hell ! "  yelled  Visconti.  "  I  am  dead,  and  in 
hell !  "  And  maniac  shrieks  rose.  He  dragged  himself  to 
the  narrow  slit  that  made  the  window,  and  some  of  the 
heavy  rain-drops  were  dashed  in  upon  his  face. 

"  I  am  alive !  "  he  cried,  "  alive !  It  does  not  rain  in 
hell !  "  He  dropped,  and  lay  prone  along  the  ground. 
After  awhile  he  rose,  and  began  groping  for  the  outer 
door. 

The  walls  seemed  to  rock  and  twist,  but  on  his  face  and 
hand  was  the  cold  splash  of  the  rain,  and  Visconti  kept  a 
hold  upon  his  self-control,  saying  between  his  teeth :  "  A 
light ;  if  I  can  get  a  light." 

He  found  the  door,  and  struck  upon  it  with  the  fury 
of  madness. 

There  was  no  response :  Again  he  struck  and  shouted. 
The  worst  had  gone  by,  but  only  to  leave  his  thoughts 
centered  on  one  idea:  to  see  a  human  face  and  in  the 
light. 

Suddenly,  in  the  midst  of  his  blows,  the  door  opened, 
showing  a  glimmering  light,  and  in  the  entrance  the 
figure  of  a  soldier,  who  looked  fearfully  around  the 
chamber. 

"  I  thought  it  was  the  fiend  himself  who  called ! "  he 
said,  and  crossed  himself. 

Visconti  clutched  his  arm.  "  It  was  the  fiend,"  he  said. 
"  Legions  of  them — the  place  is  haunted !  Give  me  a 
light!" 

The  soldier  shrank  back  in  horror  at  his  words,  at  his 
hardly  human  eyes. 


THE   TERRORS   OF   THE   NIGHT        175 

"  Santa  Maria !  "  he  muttered.  "  I  have  heard  evil  tales 
of  this  castle,  the  storm  too  is  fearful " 

"  Give  me  a  light,"  said  Visconti ;  "  give  me  a  light !  " 

"  None  of  the  prisoners  have  lights — it  is  forbid- 
den  "  began  the  man,  but  Gian  Maria  cut  him  short. 

"  A  light,  I  say !  "  and  he  put  his  blood-marked  hand 
upon  the  other's  shoulder. 

"  Thou  heardst  the  fiend  scream — and  it  was  the  fiend. 
Wilt  thou  give  me  a  light  ?  " 

The  frightened  soldier  shrank  from  him  anew. 

"  Thou  art  distraught,"  he  cried  with  a  paling  face. 

Visconti  laughed  wildly.  "  Do  I  not  say  so  ?  Give  me 
the  lantern !  "  and  he  held  out  his  finger,  on  which  there 
blazed  a  splendid  ring.  "  Would  any  ordinary  prisoner 
wear  a  ring  like  this?  I  tell  thee  it  is  a  coal  from  hell, 
and  I  will  give  it  thee — for  thy  lantern.  See,  how  it 
shines;  try  if  it  will  burn  thee  to  the  bone,"  and  he 
stripped  it  from  his  finger,  dropping  it  on  the  pavement 
at  the  soldier's  feet. 

"  Truly,"  gasped  the  soldier,  looking  at  him,  "  thou 
art  no  ordinary  man,  and  as  for  thy  gems — whether  they 
be  coals  or  no,  thou  shalt  have  the  lantern." 

He  stepped  across  the  threshold  as  he  spoke,  a  little 
fearfully,  and  placed  the  lantern  in  the  niche  cut  to  re- 
ceive it  in  the  wall. 

"  Thou  wilt  be  getting  it  down  and  firing  thyself  with 
it,"  he  remarked.  u  For  thou  art  clean  distraught,  me- 
thinks." 

Visconti  made  no  reply,  he  had  noticed  that  both  the 
inner  doors  were  shut. 

*  And  as  I  must  answer  for  thee,"  continued  the  sol- 
dier, "  I  will  secure  thee  with  this,"  and  stepping  back 
into  the  passage,  he  returned  with  a  rope  and  advanced 
toward  the  prisoner. 

The  Duke  rose  with  flashing  eyes. 


176  THE   VIPER   OF   MILAN 

"  Remember  thou  art  the  devil,  messer,"  said  the  sol- 
dier soothingly,  "  and  naught  can  really  hold  thee." 

Visconti  felt  for  the  dagger  that  no  longer  hung  by 
his  side,  then  showed  the  soldier  his  fingers,  red  and  sti>fr 
bleeding. 

"  The  teeth  that  met  there  can  meet  in  thine,"  he 
snarled,  and  his  eyes  were  like  a  wolf's. 

The  soldier  stepped  back,  then  with  a  sudden  thought 
pointed  to  the  light. 

"  Stay  unbound  then2  and  I  will  take  that  away  again," 
he  said,  and  again  advanced. 

Visconti  suffered  his  arms  to  be  bound  together  at  the 
elbows,  nor  did  he  seem  to  heed  when  the  soldier  left 
him,  and  the  great  door  fell  to  once  more  in  silence. 

The  storm  had  sobbed  itself  away,  leaving  only  the 
steady  patter  of  the  rain.  The  chamber  had  light,  and  the 
sight  of  a  human  face  had  restored  Visconti. 

Once  more  he  felt  his  hold  on  life  and  on  reality,  and 
he  turned  from  that  closed  door  with  its  superstitious 
horror  to  face  real  terror  and  a  staggering  mischance. 

Milan!  he  had  left  Milan  in  an  hour  of  need — and  with 
no  one  to  check  Valentine.  Only  within  the  last  few  weeks 
had  he  known  what  she  was  capable  of.  What  might  she 
not  attempt  once  she  realized  his  absence?  Giannotto  too, 
and  the  Duke  d'Orleans!  What  of  their  sincerity?  He 
had  left  not  one  man  within  the  city  whom  he  could  trust 
implicitly. 

Then  he  considered  his  own  plight.  Clearly  they  did 
not  know  him ;  none  the  less  they  had  him.  He  ground 
his  teeth  at  the  thought  of  Delia  Scala's  triumph. 

His  art  of  bribery  occurred  to  him,  and  he  remembered 
with  a  savage  vexation  how  he  had  flung  a  jewel  to  his 
jailer  for  a  light:  A  jewel  that  might  have  purchased 
freedom.  Still,  it  was  in  his  madness ;  he  might  be  thank- 
ful he  had  not  shouted  aloud  his  name — and  his  crimes. 


THE   TERRORS    OF   THE   NIGHT        177 

Suddenly,  with  a  start  of  recollection,  it  occurred  to  him 
anew  that  he  had  been  placed  apart.  Then  Carrara  had 
recognized  him.  The  cords  around  Visconti's  arms  began 
1  )\v  to  torture  him :  he  was  weak  from  lack  of  food  and 
mad  excitement.  Thoughts  of  Carrara  vanished.  He  saw 
the  face  of  the  girl  on  whose  account  he  had  risked  his 
dukedom. 

"  Graziosa !  "  he  cried,  but  the  face  looked  at  him  un- 
seeingly.  "You  know  me!"  as  if  in  appeal.  "  Graziosa,  1 
you  know  me !  "  The  face  suddenly  distorted,  as  if  with 
horror.  Visconti  shrank  from  it — and  she  was  gone. 

"What  frightened  her?  Those  other  faces,"  Visconti 
whispered  to  himself,  then  roused  himself  with  a  harsh 
laugh.  u  Will  Carrara  come?"  He  fixed  his  eyes  on  the 
lamp,  then  on  the  door.  And  presently  he  heard  the  sub- 
dued bustle  of  arrival,  the  great  door  clang;  the  ringing 
answers  of  the  soldiers ;  then  outside  his  own  door 
hushed  and  respectful  voices — the  door  opened,  shut,  and 
Visconti  saw  his  visitor. 

A  man,  black-eyed,  florid,  richly  dressed  in  velvet,  well 
armed,  unattended,  and  carrying  the  castle  keys — Gia- 
como  Carrara.  He  stood  in  amazement,  and  shrank  back 
half-afraid,  though  the  guard  had  warned  him. 

"Visconti!"  he  cried.  "What  has  happened?" 

The  sickly  light  of  the  lantern  showed  him  a  white, 
haggard  face,  with  wild,  bloodshot  eyes,  the  hair  hanging 
lank  and  damp  about  its  forehead,  the  plain  doublet 
gashed  and  torn,  hands  and  face  smeared  with  blood. 

But,  at  sight  of  the  man  he  hoped  to  buy,  Visconti's 
face  took  on  a  more  human  look. 

"  You  have  seen  my  messenger  ?  " 

"  Hush ! "  and  Giacomo  looked  around  cautiously. 
"  Yes,  I  have  seen  him,  and  dispatched  my  answer." 

"  My  offer  suits  you  ?  "  said  Visconti  grimly. 

"  It  suited  me,  Visconti,  till  just  now,"  returned  the 


1 78  THE   VIPER   OF   MILAN 

other.  "  It  suited  me  to  such  purpose  that  my  men  even 
now  await  my  orders  to  desert  to  Milan." 

"  Ah !  "  Visconti  said.  "  And  what  of  it  now  ?  "  he 
added,  looking  around  again,  the  old  subduing  spirit  in 
his  glance. 

"  What  of  it  ?  It  shall  still  be  done,  only,"  Carrara 
smiled,  "  there  is  an  unforeseen  addition  to  the  bargain. 
Not  only  do  you  need  my  men,  Visconti ;  I  think,  as  well, 
you  need  your  liberty." 

"  And  so  the  price  is  higher.  Is  that  what  you  would 
say?  Unloose  my  arm.  It  shall  not  be  forgotten  in  the 
bribe,"  he  sneered. 

Carrara  advanced  and  undid  the  rope  in  silence.  He 
knew  Visconti  was  unarmed. 

Visconti  gasped  with  relief  as  the  torture  was  removed. 

"  And  now,"  he  said,  taking  at  once  the  mastery,  "  how 
do  matters  stand  between  us  ?  Be  wary ;  be  brief." 

Rapidly  Giacomo  told  him  how,  with  the  desertion,  half 
Mastino's  army  would  be  gone;  how  Padua  was  to  be 
given  into  the  hands  of  Visconti's  generals,  and  how 
Count  Conrad  played  at  chess. 

Visconti  hated  the  smooth  traitor  who  was  waiting  to 
drive  a  hard  bargain  with  his  necessity — and  his  freed 
hand  went  to  his  doublet:  the  turquoise  gloves  had  not 
been  lost. 

"  And  now,  your  terms  ?  "  he  said. 

The  Duke  of  Padua  hesitated  a  moment— even  with 
Visconti  in  his  power  he  hesitated. 

"  Those  you  refused  two  years  ago,"  he  said.  "  When 
we  warred  with  Pavia." 

Visconti  remembered.  Two  years  ago,  when  he  had 
been  by  half  not  so  great  as  he  stood  now,  he  had  refused 
them  in  scorn — they  meant  half  his  dominions — they 
would  place  Carrara  on  a  level  with  himself. 

"  Well?  "  he  said,  "  and  if  I  refuse?  " 


THE   TERRORS    OF   THE   NIGHT        179 

"  A  prisoner  does  not  refuse — his  liberty,"  smiled  Gia- 
como.  He  could  afford  to  smile. 

Visconti  controlled  himself. 

"And  if  I  accept — you  take  my  word,  all  I  have  to 
give — a  prisoner's  word  ?  " 

"  A  Visconti's  word,"  corrected  Carrara.  "  Nay,  lord,  I 
think  I  shall  need  more  than  that." 

"  What  more  can  I  give  ?  "  he  asked.  "  You  waste  the 
time,  Carrara." 

Giacomo  was  playing  with  the  keys  in  his  hand. 

"  Yourself,  Visconti,"  he  returned  calmly.  "  The  army 
only  waits  for  me  to  march  on  Milan,  leaving  Delia  Scala 
stripped  of  half  his  force.  You  will  go  with  it,  Visconti, 
as  my  prisoner.  My  army  will  conduct  you  into  Milan 
— where  I  shall  not  leave  you  till  the  terms  I  offer  are 
fulfilled.  Then,  Visconti,  but  not  till  then,  we  will  to- 
gether ruin  Delia  Scala." 

Visconti  was  silent. 

"  Come,"  continued  Carrara,  "  shall  it  be  so — or  will 
you  wait  and  meet  Delia  Scala  and  Count  Conrad  ?  " 

"  I  accept  your  terms,"  said  Gian,  and  rose  to  his  feet. 
"  I  accept,  Carrara." 

Giacomo's  eyes  shone.  With  trembling  fingers  he  un- 
buttoned his  long  black  velvet  cloak  and  flung  it  on 
Visconti's  shoulders. 

"  We  must  hasten ;  even  now  the  tipsy  German  may 
think  to  visit  the  castle."  And  he  selected  a  key  from  the 
bunch  in  his  hand,  and  advanced  toward  the  inner  door. 
Visconti  started  forward,  with  staring  eyes. 

"  Not  that  way !  "  he  cried. 

Carrara  turned  in  surprise,  the  key  in  the  lock. 

1  Tis  the  only  way,  Visconti.  Are  you  thinking  we 
could  pass  unnoticed,  you  and  I  together?  " 

Gian,  deathly  white,  sank  back  obstinately  against  the 
wall. 


180  THE  VIPER  OF   MILAN 

"  I  will  not  go  that  way,"  he  said.  "  I  will  not  go  that 
way." 

"  He  is  in  his  mad  fit  again,"  thought  Giacomo ;  aloud 
he  said  soothingly :  "  Come,  lord,  this  is  the  only  way ; 
will  you  rather  wait  to  see  Verona's  face  when  he  dis- 
covers you  ?  What  is  wrong  with  this  way  ?  "  he  added 
in  vexation  as  Visconti  made  no  movement.  "  Quick !  the 
moments  fly !  " 

Gian  stepped  forward  with  an  effort. 

"  Tis  my  fancy,"  he  said.  "  Idle,  truly,  at  such  a  mo- 
ment. Open  the  door,  Carrara." 

The  key  ground  in  the  lock — as  Visconti  had  heard  it 
once  before  that  night  turned  on  the  other  side. 

Carrara  paused,  however,  and  having  taken  the  lamp 
from  the  niche,  put  it  down  with  a  smile,  and  drew  a 
parchment  from  his  belt. 

"  I  had  forgotten,"  he  said.  "  I  will  leave  this,  else 
Verona  will  miss  the  point  of  the  jest;  we  will  tell  him 
what  a  brave  catch  his  lieutenant  hath  allowed  to  escape 
the  snare."  And  with  the  end  of  his  dagger  he  drove 
the  paper  into  the  crevice  of  the  stone.  "  I  never  loved 
Verona,"  he  added,  with  an  evil  smile. 

But  Visconti  had  not  heard,  nor  was  he  heeding  him ; 
his  eyes  were  riveted  upon  the  door. 

Again  Padua  raised  the  lantern  above  his  head. 

The  glimmering  light  fell  faintly  on  a  dark  chamber, 
and  dimly  lit  a  large  black  couch  from  which  the  tap- 
estry coverlet  was  half  dragged  off.  Visconti  peered  an 
instant  over  his  rescuer's  shoulder  eagerly,  then  fell  back. 

"  I  cannot,"  he  said  sullenly.  "  I  will  stay  and  face 
Delia  Scala — I  cannot  pass  that  way." 

Carrara  turned  and  looked  at  him  keenly. 

"  What  do  you  know  of  these  chambers,  that  you  are 
afraid  to  pass  them,  Visconti  ?  "  he  asked. 

"  'Tis  no  matter  what  I  know — I  will  not  pass  them," 


THE   TERRORS    OF   THE   NIGHT        181 

cried  Visconti,  fiercely,  and  clutched  at  the  rough  wall 
as  if  to  keep  himself  from  being  made  to  enter  them 
even  by  force.  Giacomo  looked  into  the  chamber  curi- 
ously ;  the  lantern  showed  only  parts  of  it,  and  that  dimly 
— an  empty  audience  chamber,  stiff  chairs  against  the 
wall,  the  couch,  dust  on  the  floor  and  shadows  in  the 
arras — nothing  more ;  and  Carrara  turned  impatiently. 

"  I  risk  my  life  for  this/'  he  said.  "  What  do  you 
think  it  will  mean,  Visconti,  if  I  am  found  helping  you 
escape  ?  " 

He  stepped  across  the  threshold,  and  flashed  the  lan- 
tern around. 

"  Nothing !  "  he  laughed  over  his  shoulder.  "  Nothing," 
but  as  he  advanced  he  paused  a  moment,  and  lifted  up  a 
corner  of  the  dragged  coverlet,  "  save  that  this  coverlet  is 
riddled  as  if  with  dagger-thrusts,"  he  added,  "  and  the 
floor  seems  stained  " — he  sank  his  voice — "  with  blood." 

He  looked  back  at  Visconti,  standing  in  the  doorway, 
and  with  a  sudden  fear  of  him  his  hand  sought  his  sword. 

"Whom  did  you  murder  here,  Visconti?"  he  asked, 
awestruck.  "  Whoever  it  was,"  he  added  presently,  "  I 
would  not  lose  my  life  for  fear  of  them,  seeing  they  are 
dead." 

In  a  second  Visconti  was  by  his  side,  gripping  his  arm, 
and  Carrara,  startled,  shrank,  and  kept  his  hand  upon  his 
dagger. 

"  I  do  not  fear  them,"  whispered  Visconti,  in  his  ear. 
"  Nor  you." 

And  he  hurried  across  the  chamber,  Carrara  at  his 
heels. 

Room  after  room  they  traversed,  deserted,  gloomy,  and 
unopened  since  that  night. 

"  Hurry !  "  breathed  Visconti.  "  Shall  we  never  see  the 
blessed  sky  again  ?  " 

And  snatching  the  keys,  he  pushed  on,  taking  every 


182  THE   VIPER   OF   MILAN 

door  and  turning  with  a  certainty  that  showed  he  knew 
them  well. 

"  At  last !  "  he  cried,  as  they  stepped  out  into  the  air. 

They  were  at  the  back  of  the  castle,  on  a  ledge 
overhung  with  ivy,  and  overlooking  a  narrow  flight  of 
steps,  the  masonry  half-ruined  and  overgrown  with 
flowers. 

The  storm  was  over,  a  few  great  clouds  tore  across  the 
sky,  but  the  moon  was  clear  and  serene,  the  night  calm 
and  peaceful. 

The  cool  air  blew  around  Visconti's  damp  hair,  and 
stirred  the  dark  ivy  leaves,  glistening  with  the  rain.  Be- 
neath them  lay  the  tents,  a  large  body  of  men,  half  the 
army,  silently  and  swiftly  preparing  for  flight. 

"  Some  have  gone  already,"  said  Giacomo.  "  These 
wait  for  me  and  you,  Visconti:  come,"  and  stepping 
past  him  he  led  the  way. 

There  was  no  one  to  observe  them  save  Giacomo's  men, 
that  he  had  been  careful  to  station  there;  but  when  they 
had  gained  the  bottom,  and  Carrara  would  have  passed 
on,  Visconti  caught  at  his  sleeve  and  drew  him  behind  a 
clump  of  elder. 

"The  German!"  he  whispered,  and  they  waited, 
breathless. 

A  soft  voice  was  gayly  singing,  and  the  words  of  the 
song  came  clearly  through  the  night. 

"  Heinrich  was  my  bosom  friend, 
White  feather  and  purple  cloak : 
Now  that  folly's  at  an  end, 

His  the  flame  and  mine  the  smoke!  " 

"  He  comes  this  way,"  said  Carrara.  "  If  he  takes  to 
questioning  where  I  am " 

"  If  he  takes  to  coming  nearer,"  smiled  Visconti,  "  I 
shall  be  obliged  to — kill  him." 


THE   TERRORS    OF   THE    NIGHT        183 

M  We  parted  for  a  silken  knot, 

White  feather  and  purple  cloak : 
Whose  fault  it  was  I  have  forgot, 
His  the  flame  and  mine  the  smoke!  " 

The  last  words  were  lost  in  a  burst  of  laughter,  as 
Conrad  and  Vincenzo,  each  mounted  on  a  white  horse, 
and  attended  by  an  escort  with  torches,  rode  past,  back 
to  their  tents. 

So  close  they  came,  that  Visconti,  with  gleaming  eyes, 
leaned  forward,  longing  to  strangle  the  singer  with  one 
of  those  long  curls  that  hung  around  his  laughing,  care- 
less face. 

But  Carrara  was  relieved. 

"  As  long  as  he  does  not  inquire  for  me,"  he  said.  "  But 
even  then  my  officers  understand." 

Visconti  smiled  grimly ;  he  was  to  pay  for  that. 

"  Now !  "  he  said,  and  as  Conrad's  German  song  and 
Vincenzo's  wild  laughter  passed,  Visconti  and  Giacomo 
stepped  out  from  behind  the  bushes  and  looked  after 
them,  the  freedom  of  one  secured,  the  treachery  of  the 
other  well-nigh  accomplished. 


CHAPTER    EIGHTEEN 

giacomo  carrara's  reward 

THE  dawn  was  breaking,  the  sky  streaked  and  barred 
with  cold  gray  light,  and  along  the  winding  road  to  Milan 
rode  the  Visconti  and  Carrara,  the  army  before  them. 

It  had  been  accomplished,  without  demur,  openly  and 
completely;  behind  them  they  left  the  Veronese  and 
Mantuan  troops,  over  whom  Giacomo  had  no  command 
— and  Count  Conrad,  laughing  in  his  folly. 

Quite  near  to  them  lay  Milan — and  Visconti  rode  in 
silence,  wondering  what  had  befallen  in  the  city;  won- 
dering, and  fearing  Valentine  had  revealed  too  much  of 
his  own  spirit;  he  was  afraid  of  her. 

Along  the  distant  horizon  the  gray  walls  of  the  city 
began  to  be  visible  across  the  flat  plain,  and  Visconti's 
eyes  lit  at  sight  of  his  city,  and  he  turned  to  Carrara 
impulsively. 

"  Give  me  a  sword,  Carrara,"  he  said.  "  Tis  not  fitting 
I  should  enter  Milan  weaponless." 

"  The  Milanese  will  so  rejoice  to  see  you,  my  lord," 
returned  Padua,  "  they  will  never  notice " 

"  That  I  come  as  a  prisoner  ?  "  flashed  Visconti,  but 
the  next  moment  he  laughed  and  urged  on  his  horse. 
"  But  what  care  I  how,  so  long  as  I  do  re-enter  Milan  ? 
Now,  with  you  as  my  ally,  Carrara,  I  can  crush  Delia 
Scala  without  France  or  the  Empire;  and  together,  as 
ye  say,  we  will  rule  Lombardy." 

Carrara  rode  abreast  of  him,  glancing  at  him  keenly. 

"  Even  now  he  will  try  to  outwit  me,"  he  thought,  and 
184 


GIACOMO   CARRARA'S    REWARD         185 

resolved  he  would  not  be  outdone  in  cunning  for  the 
lack  of  care. 

"  How  came  it  you  were  captured  ?  "  he  added,  "  and 
in  this  guise?" 

"  The  chances  of  war,"  laughed  Visconti.  "  Foolishly 
I  went  myself  to  defend  the  gates,  and  pursued  Delia 
Scala's  men  too  far." 

But  this  candor  did  not  deceive  Carrara.  "  Foolish 
indeed !  "  he  smiled.  "  Your  hurry  excelled  your  pru- 
dence, lord."  And  he  wondered  what  was  the  truth. 

"  You  have  cause  to  thank  heaven  no  one  knew  you," 
he  continued. 

"  They  were  German  boors,"  answered  Visconti, 
"  Count  Conrad's  men,  and  there  was  nothing  to  tell 
my  degree.  Yet,  had  they  looked  a  little  closer,  they 
might  have  found  one  thing  that  would  have  told  them 
I  was  different  from  what  I  seemed — these." 

And  he  drew  out  of  his  doublet  the  turquoise  gloves. 

Even  in  that  cold,  faint  light  they  showed  brilliant  and 
beautiful,  and  Carrara  gazed  at  them  in  wonder. 

"  As  I  was  summoned,"  continued  Visconti,  dreamily, 
"  I  was  looking  at  them.  Are  they  not  beautiful,  Car- 
rara? Two  years  they  took  to  make,  and  cost  more  than 
I  care  to  tell.  Each  turquoise  is  flawless,  and  set  by 
Antonio  Fressi  himself." 

"And  is  this  a  gift  for  some  one?"  asked  Carrara, 
and  he  looked  keenly  into  Visconti 's  face. 

"  It  was  one  of  my  bridal  gifts  to  the  Duke  d'Orleans. 
I  must  honor  him,  Carrara,  although  I  love  him  not," 
said  Visconti  simply.  "  But  now  I  will  offer  it  to  one 
to  whom  I  owe  my  life.  Take  the  gloves,  a  gift  from 
me,  Giacomo."  And  he  turned  in  the  saddle  and  held 
them  with  a  winning  smile  to  Carrara,  who,  mistrustful, 
looked  at  him  doubtingly  and  keenly. 

"  Thou  wilt  not  refuse  my  gift?  "  and  Visconti  looked 


1 86  THE   VIPER   OF    MILAN 

at  him  proudly.  "  Let  it  seal  our  bargain,  Carrara.  Take 
it,  for  the  sake  of  the  goodwill  with  which  it  is  offered." 

Carrara's  ruling  quality  was  prudence,  and  all  Vis- 
conti's  seeming  guilelessness  did  not  deceive  him;  still, 
he  hesitated,  considering  where  the  trap  lay. 

Then,  as  he  glanced  down  at  the  gloves,  his  eyes  caught 
the  gleam  on  the  hilt  of  his  dagger,  and  a  thought  struck 
him. 

"  He  means  to  make  me  put  them  on,"  he  thought, 
"  and  snatch  the  sword  meanwhile  " ;  and  he  smiled  to 
think  Visconti  could  be  so  simple. 

"  Thank  thee  for  thy  gift,  Visconti,  and  for  the  good- 
will that  offers  it,"  he  said,  with  an  ingenuousness  equal 
to  Visconti's,  and  reaching  out  his  hand,  he  took  the 
gloves,  meaning  to  have  the  gift  and  outwit  Visconti 
also. 

Gian's  manner  had  lost  its  gloom  and  wildness,  he 
seemed  light  of  heart  and  in  a  pleasant  mood. 

"  They  are  riding-gloves,"  he  cried.  "  Wear  them  into 
Milan,  Carrara." 

"  Ah,"  thought  Giacomo,  "  I  see  the  plot.  Thou 
wouldst  snatch  a  weapon  while  my  hands  are  busy," 
and,  priding  himself  on  his  cunning,  he  deftly  slipped 
them  on  his  hands,  keeping  his  elbow  on  his  sword-hilt 
and  his  watchful  eyes  upon  Visconti. 

"  A  beautiful  dawn,"  said  Gian  softly,  seeming  to  take 
no  heed  of  Carrara's  clever  maneuvering;  his  eyes  were 
fixed  on  the  sunrise  behind  Milan.  "  All  pearl  and  silver, 
blushing  into  life  anon;  about  the  time  when  I  shall 
enter  Milan." 

And  he  fixed  his  eyes  on  Giacomo  with  a  strange 
expression. 

"  When  we  shall  enter  Milan,"  corrected  Carrara. 
"  The  sun  will  be  faintly  high :  these  marches  are  toil- 
some." And  he  glanced  down  proudly  at  the  beautiful 


GIACOMO   CARRARA'S    REWARD         187 

gauntlets  on  his  hands,  calculating  what  the  pearls  and 
turquoises  might  be  worth,  picked  off,  and  vain  at  having 
outwitted  Visconti. 

"  The  promise  of  the  day ! "  said  Visconti,  dreamily 
and  sadly.  "  Hath  it  never  struck  thee  how  that  promise 
never  is  fulfilled?  Day  after  day,  since  the  world  began, 
something  in  the  mystery  of  the  dawn  is  promised — 
something  the  sunset  smiles  to  see  unfulfilled — something 
men  have  been  ever  cheated  of — something  men  will 
never  know — the  promise  of  the  dawn !  " 

The  road  began  now  to  be  fringed  with  poplars,  and 
in  the  faint  light  the  colors  of  the  wayside  flowers  were 
visible. 

They  rode  awhile  in  silence.  Carrara  looked  back  at 
the  small  rearguard  in  the  distance,  and  before  him  along 
the  road  to  his  army  blackening  the  plain,  and  then  again 
at  Visconti. 

"  Either  he  is  always  mad  or " 

With  a  sharp  exclamation  he  fell  forward  on  his 
horse's  neck,  but  recovered  himself  instantly.  Visconti 
turned  to  him,  still  with  that  far-away  look  in  his  eyes. 

"  The  road  is  stony,"  he  said.  "  Thy  horse  stumbled?  " 

"  Fool  or  devil  ?  "  Carrara  was  still  wondering,  and, 
looking  at  Visconti's  face,  he  almost  thought  him  a  fool. 

"  You  and  I,"  cried  Visconti,  with  a  sudden  change, 
"  together,  Carrara !  Lords  of  Lombardy !  " 

And  he  struck  his  horse  into  a  gallop  so  unexpectedly 
that  Carrara  had  difficulty  to  keep  abreast  with  him. 

"  I  have  been  so  long  away ! "  he  cried.  "  Haste !  I 
long  to  be  in  my  city  again.  Valentine — and  others — 
will  be  grieving.  Haste !  " 

And  he  still  urged  his  horse. 

Carrara,  galloping  at  his  side,  suddenly  reeled  in  the 
saddle,  with  a  cry  of  anguish. 

"  Faster !  "  cried  Visconti.  "  Faster !  " 


188  THE   VIPER   OF   MILAN 

With  an  effort  Carrara  kept  his  horse  to  the  pace,  but 
his  face  was  deathly,  his  lips  set.  Visconti  never  looked 
at  him ;  his  gaze  was  toward  Milan  and  the  sunrise. 

Suddenly  Carrara  cried  aloud.  "  Not  so  fast,  Vis- 
conti, not  so  fast !  " 

But  Gian  flew  along  the  level  road. 

"  Milan !  "  he  cried,  "  on  to  Milan !  " 

Carrara  swayed  forward  to  grasp  Visconti's  cloak,  but 
he  shook  him  off  with  a  laugh. 

"  What  ails  you,  Carrara  ?  The  army  waits,  you  must 
ride  faster  still  if  you  mean  to  ride  into  Milan  to-day 
with  me." 

But  Carrara  was  clutching  at  the  neck  of  his  doublet 
with  staring  eyes. 

"  My  heart!  "  he  gasped.  "  I  suffocate — ah !  " 

And  he  rode  on  blindly. 

"  Your  heart  ? "  laughed  Visconti,  drawing  rein  a 
little.  "  Do  your  treacheries  stop  its  beating  ?  You  suffo- 
cate ? — Do  your  lies  choke  you  ?  " 

A  cry  of  mortal  agony  broke  from  the  unhappy  Car- 
rara. 

"  Stop !  "  he  gasped ;  "  I  am — dying — stop " 

Then  his  glazing  eyes  fell  on  the  brilliant  blue  gloves 
he  wore,  and  he  sat  upright  with  a  scream  of  rage. 

"  The  gloves !  the  gloves !  "  And  with  his  remaining 
strength  he  tried  to  tear  them  off.  "  O  fool !  A  Visconti ! 
...  I  might — have  known " 

Frantically  he  pulled  at  them,  while  Visconti,  now 
moving  almost  at  a  walk,  looked  dreamily  ahead  at  the 
fast  nearing  city. 

"  Fiend !  "  cried  Carrara  wildly.  "  Fiend !  " 

And  he  lurched  forward,  falling  heavily  onto  the  road, 
where  he  lay,  convulsed,  the  turquoise  gloves  still  on 
his  hands. 

Gian  Maria  drew  rein  now,  and  looked  down  at  him, 


GIACOMO   CARRARA'S    REWARD         189 

his  face  no  longer  indifferent,  as  he  looked  down  into 
the  white  and  contorted  countenance  of  the  dying  man. 

"  '  Whom  did  you  murder  here,  Visconti  ?  '  "  he  quoted. 
"  *  Whoever  it  be,  do  not  fear  him  now,  since  he  is  dead  ' ; 
and  I  answered,  did  I  not,  that  I  feared  neither  him  nor 
you  ?  And  now,  Carrara,  thou  mayst  tell  him  what  I  said, 
he  whom  I  murdered  in  that  room  we  passed." 

Giacomo,  writhing  on  the  ground,  looked  up  at  him 
with  hate  equal  to  his  own,  and  feebly  still  tried  to  pull 
off  the  turquoise  gloves. 

Visconti,  leaning  low  from  the  saddle,  gripped  his 
sword  and  thrust  it  through  his  belt. 

"  I  shall  not  ride  into  Milan  swordless,"  he  said ;  "  thou 
might'st  have  spared  thy  caution,  Carrara :  I  shall  ride 
into  Milan  with  thy  army,  thy  towns,  and  thy  sword ; 
and  I  have  bought  them — with  a  pair  of  turquoise 
gloves." 

He  looked  curiously  at  Carrara,  who  suddenly  sat  up- 
right; the  cold  light  fell  on  his  face,  his  starting  eyes 
looking  straight  into  Visconti's. 

"  Thou  art  not  human,  Visconti,"  he  whispered. 
•  Yet,  remember,  even  devils  meet  their  punishment,  and 
there  will  be  the  bitterest  of  all  for  such  as  thou  art 
— failure — "  And  he  fell  back  again  among  the  flowers, 
where  he  lay,  white  and  still. 

Visconti  looked  back  at  the  advancing  rearguard, 
waved  to  it,  pointing  downward,  and  then  before  him 
to  Milan,  brilliant  in  the  sunrise. 

From  its  turrets  still  floated  the  banner  of  the  Viper. 


CHAPTER    NINETEEN 

A    SIGN    FROM    HEAVEN 

XHE  day  had  dawned  fair  and  clear  after  the  storm, 
and  the  early  sunlight  struck  across  the  dark  chamber 
that  had  held  Visconti. 

The  stamped  leather  hung  before  the  high  window  had 
been  torn  away  and  lay  along  the  ground,  but  the  room 
was  unchanged  save  that  the  inner  door  was  open,  and 
near  it,  stuck  into  a  crevice  of  the  stone,  a  parchment 
hung. 

Before  this  stood  Count  Conrad,  with  a  face  dazed. 

Vincenzo,  when  he  learned  the  news,  had  flown  like  a 
madman  along  the  road  to  Milan,  in  a  fury  of  rage, 
with  some  half-frenzied  project  of  overtaking  the  traitor. 

Outside  the  door  was  a  group  of  soldiers,  who  peeped 
through  with  curiosity  at  the  motionless  figure  within. 

At  last  he  moved  dizzily  to  a  seat.  "  Saint  Hubert, 
when  the  Prince  returns ! "  he  gasped,  and  wiped  the 
perspiration  from  his  forehead  with  a  groan  of  woe. 

He  looked  a  somewhat  sorry  figure,  his  peacock  doub- 
let crumpled,  his  hair  uncurled,  his  hands  shaking. 

Last  night,  only  last  night,  Visconti  had  been  in  this 
very  room,  a  prisoner  in  his  power,  and  he  had  reveled 
with  a  boy  and  quarreled  over  a  game!  One  of  the 
soldiers  pushed  the  door  open  softly  and  entered. 

"  The  Prince  has  returned,  my  lord,"  he  said. 

"  So  soon !  "  gasped  Conrad.  "  So  soon !  " 

"  The  army  is  moving  from  Brescia ;  the  intention  is  to 
march  on  Milan " 

"  With  the  men  who  are  not  here ! "  groaned  Conrad. 
190 


A   SIGN    FROM    HEAVEN  191 

"  The  Duke  met  my  lord  d'Este.  He  knows,"  said  the 
soldier  gruffly,  and  left  the  room.  It  would  have  pleased 
him  to  strangle  the  foppish  foreigner  who  had  well-nigh 
ruined  them. 

Conrad  felt  half  relieved,  half  sorry;  whether  Vin- 
cenzo's  relation  had  been  as  kind  to  him  as  his  own 
would  have  been  he  doubted — he  felt  a  wild  desire  to 
hide  himself  till  Delia  Scala's  rage  had  blown  a  little  over. 

As  he  stood  there,  miserable,  undecided,  he  heard  the 
salutations  of  the  soldiers  and  a  heavy  tread  outside. 

He  remembered  that  Mastino  was  a  giant; — he  had 
once  found  it  to  his  advantage,  he  might  now  find  it  to 
his  peril;  but  it  was  not  fear,  but  bitter  shame,  that 
brought  Conrad  almost  to  his  knees. 

He  knew  that  Delia  Scala  was  there,  though  he  did 
not  raise  his  head. 

"  Conrad,"  said  Mastino,  and  his  voice  was  strangely 
altered.  "  Conrad." 

The  Count,  with  an  effort,  looked  at  Mastino,  who 
stood  in  front  of  the  door  he  had  closed,  with  a  face 
from  which  all  color  had  been  struck. 

"  When  did  you  discover — this  ? "  continued  Delia 
Scala,  and  pointed  to  the  parchment.  All  elaborate 
excuses  and  appeals  for  pardon  Conrad  had  prepared 
died  away  on  his  tongue. 

"  An  hour  ago,"  he  replied  lamely. 

"  An  hour  ago !  "  Mastino  walked  across  to  the  parch- 
ment hanging  on  the  wall. 

Conrad's  eyes  followed  him;  he  could  find  no  words 
to  break  the  silence. 

Delia  Scala  first  read,  then  tore  the  writing  down,  and 
crushed  it  in  his  hand;  then  he  looked  at  the  door, 
standing  ajar. 

"  How  many  have  deserted  ?  "  he  asked  in  a  hard  voice. 
"  Vincenzo  said  half  the  army." 


i92  THE   VIPER   OF   MILAN 

Conrad  could  not  answer  the  truth. 

"  How  many  ?  "  and  Mastino  turned  toward  him. 

"  Carrara  has  taken  all  his  force,"  faltered  the  wretched 
man. 

Mastino  crushed  the  parchment  yet  tighter  in  his  hand, 
and  walked  up  to  Conrad,  who  shrank  before  his  face. 

"  Your  sword,  Count,"  he  said.  Conrad  hesitated,  be- 
wildered. 

"  You  are  no  longer  in  my  service ;  as  my  officer  you 
wear  that  sword;  as  what  you  are,  I  demand  it  from 
you." 

And  he  held  out  his  hand. 

In  silence  Conrad  drew  the  weapon. 

Mastino  took  it,  broke  it,  threw  it  on  the  floor 

"And  now  go,"  he  said. 

At  last  Conrad  found  his  voice. 

"  Lord !  "  he  cried,  "  let  me  stay." 

"  Go,"  said  Mastino. 

"  I  will  stay,"  faltered  Conrad,  "  and  amend  my  fault." 

But  Delia  Scala  turned  his  back  on  him. 

"  Go  to  Visconti,"  he  flashed.  "  Tisio  plays  chess  as 
well  almost  as  Vincenzo." 

The  taunt  made  speech  come  more  easily.  "  No  man 
can  ask  more  than  another's  humiliation,  that  other  suing 
humbly  for  pardon " 

"  I  did  not  ask  so  much,"  said  Mastino,  his  back  still 
to  him.  "  You  are  unhurt." 

And  the  Count  glanced  at  Delia  Scala's  face,  and  saw 
a  little  of  what  he  had  done ;  that  speech  was  useless. 

He  moved  to  go,  murmuring  something  with  bent 
head ;  at  the  door  he  turned  again.  "  Delia  Scala,"  he 
began,  "  I " 

"  I  will  never  willingly  see  your  face  again,"  inter- 
rupted Mastino.  "  Go  and  join  my  other  allies — in 
Milan." 


A   SIGN    FROM   HEAVEN  193 

Conrad  drew  himself  up. 

"  God  helping  me,  I  will  go  to  Milan,"  he  said.  "  I 
will  further  your  cause  in  Milan  itself — even  though  I 
leave  with  you  my  sword." 

Still  Mastino  stood  motionless,  and  slowly  Conrad 
passed  through  the  doors,  and  down  the  stairs,  through 
the  soldiery  that  turned  their  backs — cast  out.  As  the 
door  clashed  to  behind  the  Count,  Mastino  turned  pas- 
sionately and  strode  into  the  inner  room,  not  knowing 
what  he  did,  so  great  the  agony  of  his  helpless  fury  and 
despair. 

A  gloomy  window  gave  a  view  upon  the  open  coun- 
try. 

Delia  Scala  strode  to  it;  little  he  heeded  the  gloomy 
couch  and  the  stained  floor.  He  saw  only  the  green  plain 
of  Lombardy,  and  his  own  diminished  tents,  lessened 
by  the  better  half.  He  struck  his  hand  against  the  win- 
dow-frame violently — Visconti  had  triumphed! 

This  evening  had  he  meant  to  seize  Milan — the  even- 
ing of  this  very  day ;  and,  behold,  now  it  was  all  to  be 
done  again,  the  weary,  weary  waiting,  the  watching,  the 
planning,  the  soothing  his  allies,  the  making  good 
Carrara's  treachery;  and  meanwhile — Isotta! 

Delia  Scala  dropped  his  head  into  his  hands  with  a 
cry  wrung  from  his  heart.  "  Isotta!  Isotta!  " 

The  sunlight  fell  too  on  the  crumpled  parchment  on 
the  floor,  and  Mastino,  raising  his  head,  saw  it  lying 
there  and  ground  it  beneath  his  heel. 

"  Am  I  to  be  forever  laughed  at  and  betrayed  ?  "  he 
cried.  "  Ever  served  by  traitors  and  leagued  with  fools  ? 
Shall  I  never  learn  I  trust  too  much  ? "  He  looked 
around  the  chamber,  and  thought,  with  a  bitterness  be- 
yond expression,  that  only  a  few  hours  before  Visconti 
had  passed  through  it. 

Delia  Scala  leaned  against  the  wall ;  the  very  sunlight 


i94  THE   VIPER   OF   MILAN 

seemed  black,  the  very  sky  hopeless.  Yet  his  spirit  rose 
against  his  fate. 

He  drew  out  and  kissed  the  little  locket  he  wore  around 
his  neck,  the  pearl  locket  that  always  hung  there.  Then 
suddenly  rousing  himself  and  walking  blindly  forward, 
opening  one  door  in  mistake  for  another,  found  himself 
at  the  top  of  two  steps,  looking  down  into  a  chapel. 
For  a  moment,  his  brain  reeling  and  sick,  he  stepped 
back,  bewildered,  doubting  what  he  saw. 

The  place  was  high  and  dome-shaped,  with  plain  stone 
walls,  lit  by  two  windows  facing  each  other,  but  shrouded 
in  dark  hangings  that  admitted  only  a  faint,  cold  light. 

The  air  was  damp  and  vault-like,  and  the  room  itself 
bare  of  any  furniture  or  adornment  save  a  purple  has- 
sock, and  two  lamps  of  rusty  gold  that  hung  by  long, 
blackened  chains  from  the  ceiling.  Opposite  the  entrance 
hung  against  the  stone  wall  a  purple  curtain,  and  before 
it  a  large  crucifix,  crudely  painted.  The  dim  light  just 
struck  its  dismal  coloring,  and  to  Mastino's  fevered  fancy 
the  dead  Christ  seemed  to  twist  and  writhe  along  His 
contorted  body. 

The  lamps  were  long  out,  and  the  sense  of  incense  on 
the  air  faint. 

Delia  Scala  entered  softly,  catching  his  breath  pain- 
fully, the  terror  of  religion  strong  within  him. 

On  the  purple  hassock  he  knelt,  with  clasped  hands, 
before  the  disfigured  Christ,  his  heart  rising  to  his  lips 
in  passionate  prayer. 

"  Lord,  thou  understandest !  Because  I  cannot  deck 
thy  altars  with  the  gold  of  victory,  thou  wilt  not  for- 
sake me,  thou  wilt  have  mercy  on  me  and  on  her !  " 

And  he  stretched  out  his  arms  to  the  figure  in  an 
exaltation  of  trust  and  hope.  "  Even  as  I  spare  those 
who  betray,  so  wilt  thou  spare  her,  O  Christ !  "  He  flung 
himself  from  his  knees,  face  downward  on  the  stones, 


A   SIGN    FROM    HEAVEN  195 

in  a  tumult  of  hope  and  trust.  Around  the  folds  of  Mas- 
tino's  cloak  lay  the  leaves  of  some  dead  roses  that  had 
fluttered  at  his  movement,  from  forgotten  wreaths,  hang- 
ing brown  against  the  wall. 

Mastino  rose,  eager  for  some  answer — some  assent. 
But  the  dead  Christ  was  silent.  Mastino  could  see  the 
cracking  paint  on  the  ribs,  the  tawdry  gold  of  the  halo, 
and  he  came  still  nearer  in  a  strange  desperation. 

Half-hidden  in  shadow,  two  faces  looked  down  on  him 
— expressionless,  stone,  the  angels  on  the  wall. 

Mastino  looked  from  them  to  the  crucifix,  and  his  fer- 
vent faith  sank,  chilled. 

"  Stone,"  he  murmured  in  his  heart.  "  Stone  and 
paint,"  and  he  noticed  the  empty  lamps  that  should  be 
blazing  with  eternal  fire,  and  he  cried  aloud  in  bitterness. 
"  Men  keep  those  alight,  and  without  them  the  eternal 
fire  dies!  Stone  angels  and  a  painted  God!  What  help 
in  them  ?  "  And  he  dropped  again  upon  the  floor.  "  The 
lamps  burn  bright  on  Visconti's  altars,  and  his  saints 
smile — for  the  painter  limned  them  so." 

He  turned  from  the  dismantled  chapel  and  rushed  up 
the  three  steps,  half  distraught. 

In  the  outer  chamber  the  sunlight  dropped  strong  and 
golden,  and  Mastino  shut  the  door  of  the  dark  and 
gloomy  chapel  behind  him  with  a  shudder. 

"  Lord !  "  cried  an  eager  voice.  "  Lord !  " 

It  was  Tomaso  and  his  father. 

"  Did  ye  fear  for  me,  Ligozzi  ? "  said  Delia  Scala 
kindly.  "  I  have  been  praying  for  a  patient  heart."  And 
the  two  who  loved  him  looked  at  him  awhile  and  could 
say  nothing. 

"  My  lord,"  began  Tomaso  again  with  a  timid  eager- 
ness, "  there  is  news " 

"  Tomaso,"  said  his  father,  "  thy  news  can  wait." 

Mastino  picked  up  his  gauntlet  from  the  deep  window- 


196  THE   VIPER   OF   MILAN 

seat  where  he  had  laid  it  down,  and  fastening  it  on, 
looked  at  Ligozzi. 

"  What  hast  thou  to  say,  Ligozzi  ?  Have  any  of  the 
men  returned  ?  " 

Ligozzi  stood  fidgeting  with  his  cap,  looking  uneasily 
at  the  ground. 

"  Come,"  and  Mastino  smiled  sadly,  "  I  am  used  to 
bad  news,  Ligozzi." 

"  Some  few  men  have  indeed  returned  from  Giacomo's 
army,  my  lord,  some  fourscore " 

"  Some  fourscore !  "  repeated  Delia  Scala.  "  Are  there 
so  many  as  fourscore  that  will  not  serve  Visconti?  " 

"  They  have  strange  tales,  my  lord.  They  say  Carrara 
himself  is  dead." 

"  Carrara  dead ! "  cried  Mastino  with  a  sudden  fierce- 
ness, savage  as  a  bite.  "  Now,  I  had  promised  myself  to 
kill  Carrara.  Who  has  forestalled  me  ?  " 

"  It  is  said — Visconti  himself — they  do  not  know." 

"  And  the  traitor  dead/'  broke  in  Delia  Scala,  "  was 
there  not  one — not  one  to  lead  the  men  back  to  me 
again?  Visconti,  single-handed  and  unarmed,  was  al- 
lowed to  take  an  army  into  Milan?  " 

"  Alas,  my  lord,  not  only  Carrara,  his  captains  too, 
as  it  appears,  have  all  been  bought." 

"  Tell  me  no  more,"  cried  Mastino.  "  I  am  alone  to 
blame.  I  cannot  learn  to  deal  with  traitors." 

"  As  for  Count  Carrara,  the  wretched  German,"  con- 
tinued Ligozzi,  "  he  has  left  the  camp."  As  he  spoke, 
Ligozzi  glanced  through  the  window  at  the  tents.  "  He 
took  no  one  with  him,  but,  ordering  his  Germans  to 
fight  as  one  man  to  the  death  for  you,  he  rode  along 
the  road  to  Milan." 

"  Oh ! "  cried  Mastino,  with  a  great  cry  wrung  from 
his  soul.  He  rested  his  hand  a  moment  on  Ligozzi's 
shoulder.  "  I  am  well-nigh  sick,  Ligozzi,"  he  said.  "  The 


A   SIGN    FROM    HEAVEN  197 

empty-headed  and  the  villain  prosper,  and  I — and  mine 
— go  to  the  wall." 

Tomaso  stole  forward.  Delia  Scala  noticed  him  and 
turned  kindly. 

"  Something  to  tell  me,  sayest  thou?  "  he  asked. 

Tomaso's  eyes  were  full  of  tears.  For  some  moments 
he  could  not  find  his  voice. 

"  He  hath  discovered  some  secret  passage ;  useless,  I 
fear  me,"  said  his  father. 

"  Nay,  father,  I  tell  thee  it  leadeth  to  the  city !  To-day, 
lord,  as  I  explored  it,  I  found  stored  there  some  rolls 
of  silk,  new  and  clean ;  together  with  some  earths  such 
as  I  have  heard  say  painters  use." 

Delia  Scala  started.  He  found  the  news  not  so  unim- 
portant as  Ligozzi  had. 

"  Go  on,  Tomaso,"  he  said,  and  kept  his  half-closed 
eyes  upon  the  ground. 

"  Indeed,  my  lord,  it  must  be  some  old  subway  into 
Milan.  'Tis  wide  enough  to  admit  six  abreast,  and  re- 
cently used,  as  it  opens  some  mile  and  a  half  outside 
the  city.  I  have  not  yet  penetrated  to  the  extremity. 
Lord,  think  of  it — it  must  open  into  Milan !  " 

Delia  Scala's  worn  face  flushed  involuntarily,  his  eyes 
turned  to  the  closed  door  of  the  chapel.  Had  he  belied 
the  stone  angels — the  extinguished  lamps  ? 

"  This  seems  great  news,  Tomaso,"  he  said  slowly.  "  I 
will  see  into  it."  He  moved  as  he  spoke.  "  My  other 
gauntlet,  Ligozzi  ?  " 

"  I  cannot  see  it,  lord." 

"Ah I"  said  Mastino  suddenly.  "I  left  it  in  the 
chapel!" 

Tomaso  had  already  departed  for  the  gauntlet.  Mas- 
tino, following  to  the  door,  saw  him  stoop  and  lift  it 
from  the  ground. 

Tomaso  handed   him   the  ponderous  glove,   and,   as 


i98  THE   VIPER   OF   MILAN 

Mastino  took  it,  he  stifled  the  cry  on  his  lips,  and  turned 
away  to  clasp  it  to  his  heart. 

For   inside  his   glove,   almost  hidden  in   the   velvet 
lining,  lay  a  soft  white  rose :  a  sign  from  heaven. 


CHAPTER   TWENTY 

IN   THE   DUKE'S   ABSENCE 

My  chance  has  come/'  said  Valentine. 

A  day  had  passed  since  Visconti  had  ridden  so  wildly 
to  the  western  gate,  and  as  yet  he  had  not  returned. 

The  soldiers,  weary  and  wounded,  had  reeled  that 
night  into  the  palace  courtyards,  de  Lana  at  their  head, 
expecting  to  find  Visconti  there  before  them.  They  had 
missed  him  in  the  wild  fray — the  Germans  had  been 
driven  back  from  the  walls  without  their  prisoners — 
had  not  the  Duke  returned? 

Neither  then  nor  as  yet,  near  a  day  after  the  sortie. 
Doubtless  he,  victorious  as  ever,  was  reconnoitering 
some  stronghold  of  the  enemy,  or  their  encampments 
outside  Milan. 

Still,  in  the  palace  some  were  getting  anxious ;  there 
was  no  word,  no  message.  Who,  in  the  Duke's  absence, 
ruled  Milan  ? 

The  question  suggested  itself  among  others  to  Valen- 
tine Visconti. 

She  put  it  to  herself. 

"  I  rule  Milan,  and  I  will  give  myself  my  freedom  by 
it,  whether  Gian  be  alive  or  dead,  returning  now  or 
never." 

It  was  late  afternoon,  and  Valentine  had  formed  her 
plan ;  with  courage  and  skill  she  made  no  doubt  of  suc- 
cess. To  enter  her  brother's  private  room  was  the  first 
step. 

199 


200  THE   VIPER   OF   MILAN 

All  day  Valentine  had  plotted  some  means  of  accom- 
plishing this. 

The  rooms  were  locked,  and  Gian  wore  the  key  around 
his  neck. 

The  Visconti  palace  was  part  old,  part  new ;  the  great 
circular  tower  in  which  Isotta  was  confined,  the  low 
heavy  stone  buildings  that  surrounded  it,  were  the  only 
remaining  portions  of  the  ancient  Gothic  castle. 

The  new  building,  bright  in  yellow  and  pink  tiles,  was 
supported  on  low,  horseshoe  arches,  and  gave  straightly 
on  the  courtyard  in  front  and  the  gardens  at  the  rear — 
the  whole  encircled  by  a  great  wall. 

Detached  from  the  palace,  standing  alone  in  the 
grounds,  was  a  high,  square  brick  tower,  the  highest 
building  in  Milan,  and  from  the  summit  there  floated 
night  and  day  the  banner  of  the  Viper. 

Along  the  second  story  of  the  palace  ran  the  open 
arcade  or  corridor,  a  wide  and  pleasant  walk,  paved  with 
black  and  white  stone,  looking  on  the  garden  through 
the  clustered  columns  that  supported  it,  richly  ornate 
with  carvings. 

A  private  entrance  to  Visconti's  rooms  opened  onto 
this  corridor. 

The  banqueting  hall  gave  upon  it  also,  and  to  Valen- 
tine Visconti,  standing  between  the  arches  looking  from 
the  fair  garden  back  to  the  closed  doors,  a  thought 
occurred. 

In  her  wild  intention  to  escape,  she  had  only  one 
ally,  Adrian,  her  page,  feeble  and  powerless  at  best, 
but  devoted  to  her  with  an  utter  devotion  that  might 
be  worth  much. 

Valentine  had  confided  in  him,  since  she  must  have 
help,  if  only  the  help  of  speech;  and  now,  of  a  sudden, 
his  use  appeared. 

She    had    withdrawn    from   the    observation   of   her 


IN   THE   DUKE'S   ABSENCE  201 

women  and  the  court,  in  pretense  of  praying  for  her 
brother's  safety,  and  no  one  was  with  her. 

"Adrian!"  she  called  softly,  "Adrian!"  She  had  pri- 
vately bidden  him  follow  her,  and  well  she  knew  he  was 
not  far  away. 

The  boy  came  forward  eagerly. 

"Hush!"  said  Valentine.  "Do  not  speak — listen — I 
have  need  of  thee;  wilt  thou  serve  me  even  to  the  death, 
for  it  may  be  that?" 

"  You  know  I  do  not  heed  death,  lady,"  replied  the 
page  with  glad  pride.  "  Anything  that  may  serve  you 
will  make  me  forever  happy." 

"  Follow  me,"  said  Valentine,  and  stepped  on  to  the 
balcony.  "  Now  walk  behind,  and  as  if  I  were  not  speak- 
ing to  thee.  There  may  be  sharp  eyes  upon  us  in  the 
garden." 

The  sun,  late  as  it  was,  fell  between  the  pillars  in 
strong  bars  of  gold,  and  Valentine  raised  her  ivory  fan 
as  if  to  shield  her  from  the  heat,  but  in  reality  to  con- 
ceal the  movement  of  her  lips,  in  case  there  might  be 
watchers. 

"  I  must  procure  an  entrance  to  my  brother's  rooms," 
she  said,  speaking  low  over  her  shoulder.  "  They  are 
locked.  No  key  will  fit  them.  I  cannot  force  the  entrance 
in  the  palace.  Still  I  must  enter.  You  are  listening, 
Adrian?" 

"With  all  my  soul,  lady!" 

Valentine  kept  her  eyes  upon  the  garden,  there  was  no 
one  there  to  see.  The  tower  was  not  as  yet  finished,  and 
so  uninhabited;  the  garden  itself  was  empty;  still  Valen- 
tine kept  her  gaze  before  her  and  spoke  without  turning 
her  head. 

"  At  any  moment  the  Duke  may  return;  or,  if  he  does 
not,  there  will  be  sore  confusion  I  cannot  cope  with;  it 
must  be  done." 


202  THE   VIPER    OF   MILAN 

They  had  traversed  almost  the  whole  length  of  the 
corridor,  and  Valentine  suddenly  stopped. 

"  There,  this  door,"  said  Valentine,  "  into  the  Duke's 
rooms,  Adrian,"  and  she  rested  her  hand  against  it  as  she 
spoke. 

It  was  a  folding  door,  opening  in  the  middle,  firmly 
bolted  from  the  inside,  and  appeared  as  hopeless  as  the 
great  entrance  to  the  suite  within  the  palace,  though  un- 
guarded. 

Either  side  of  it  were  deep-set,  circular  windows, 
ringed  round  and  round  with  carving  and  ornamentation, 
placed  too  high  to  reach  and  too  small  to  gain  admis- 
sion by. 

The  door  itself  was  of  wood,  as  firm  and  heavy  as 
iron,  clamped  with  gilded  metal,  and  immovable  to  the 
touch. 

"Does  it  look  hopeless?"  whispered  Valentine. 

Adrian  would  not  have  said  so  for  his  life. 

"  You  would  force  it  ?  "  he  asked  eagerly. 

"  Yes,  hush! "  Valentine  leaned  through  the  low  arch 
and  looked  into  the  garden;  as  before,  all  was  quiet;  the 
life  and  bustle  of  the  palace  came  through  the  front  to- 
day, waiting  news  of  the  absent  Duke. 

She  turned  again  with  glistening  eyes. 

"  Yes,  I  would  force  it — and  I  will  show  you  how, 
Adrian." 

Half-way  up  the  door,  deep  set  in  the  thin  and  delicate 
foliage  of  the  carving,  were  two  circular  windows,  one  in 
each  panel. 

"Can  you  reach  them?"  asked  Valentine.  "lama 
hand  too  short." 

By  means  of  standing  on  the  base  of  one  of  the  side 
pillars  of  the  door,  Adrian  could  easily  touch  the  whole 
span  of  the  glass. 

"  Now,  do  I  break  it  ?  "  whispered  the  page. 


IN   THE   DUKE'S   ABSENCE  203 

"  Yes,"  returned  Visconti's  sister.  "  But  wait,  there 
may  be  some  soldier  on  hidden  guard." 

She  looked  around  cautiously. 

"  I  see  no  one,"  she  continued.  "  Now,  only  through 
this  one  arch  canst  thou  be  noticed  from  the  garden, 
and  there  I  will  stand,  with  my  open  fan;  now  quick — thy 
dagger  handle/' 

She  turned  her  back  to  him  and  raised  her  hand  against 
the  stonework  of  the  arch,  her  mantle  so  falling  over  her 
arm  that  anyone,  looking  thither,  could  have  seen  noth- 
ing save  her  figure. 

Adrian  leaned  forward  and  struck  the  glass  a  violent 
blow  with  the  handle  of  his  dagger;  it  was  hard,  and 
resisted,  but  at  a  second  blow  shivered.  The  page  tore 
away  the  metal  framework,  and  slipping  his  arm  through, 
thrust  back  the  first  bolt.  But  it  was  fastened  in  three 
places,  and  the  other  two  were  not  so  easy.  Straining  up 
to  his  full  height,  the  page  forced  half  his  body  through 
the  broken  window  and  succeeded  in  slipping  back  the 
second  bolt;  the  third  was  almost  at  the  bottom  of  the 
tall  door,  nor  was  the  opening  he  had  forced  large  enough 
for  him  to  do  more  than  admit  his  arm  and  shoulder 
through.  He  still  held  his  dagger  in  his  hand,  and  grasp- 
ing at  it  at  the  end  of  the  blade,  struck  violently  down- 
ward at  the  bolt  head  with  the  handle.  It  did  not  move 
the  first  time,  nor  the  second,  nor  the  third;  but  at  the 
fourth  blow  it  suddenly  shot  back  and  the  door  was  open. 
Adrian  struggled  through  the  window,  backward,  on  to 
his  feet,  his  hand  and  arm  torn  in  several  places,  dizzy 
with  the  strain. 

Valentine  turned  with  a  glad  cry. 

"  Now  stand  thou  in  the  archway,"  she  said ;  "  and 
close  the  door  behind  me  and  keep  watch;  our  one  need 
is  haste!" 

The  page  pushed  the  despoiled  door  open  and  Valen- 


204  THE   VIPER   OF   MILAN 

tine  sped  through,  closing  it  carefully  after  her;  the 
broken  window  would  not  be  noticed  from  the  garden, 
but  an  open  door  might.  The  space  she  entered  seemed 
so  dark  after  the  bright  glare  outside  that  at  first  she 
could  gather  nothing. 

But  soon  the  light  sufficed  to  show  Valentine  this  was 
not  the  room  she  wanted. 

It  was  gorgeously  decorated,  frescoes  covered  the 
walls,  the  ceiling  was  richly  gilt  and  painted,  the  floor 
glass  mosaic,  the  furniture  florid  and  ornate. 

Valentine  glanced  around  hurriedly:  at  one  end  was  a 
door,  and  trying  it,  found  it  open  easily,  leading  into 
another  splendid  apartment — still  not  containing  what  she 
sought. 

Hastening  on  through  a  door,  not  only  unlocked,  but 
standing  ajar,  she  found  herself  in  a  small,  somber  room, 
hung  with  purple  and  gold;  its  principal  furniture  the 
secretary's  table,  Visconti's  chair,  and  the  imposing  black 
carved  bureau. 

This  was  the  room  she  wanted;  and  on  the  bureau, 
flung  down  in  haste,  a  bunch  of  keys. 

Valentine  seized  them  with  trembling  hands;  they 
were  the  keys  of  the  drawers,  and  one  by  one  she  flung 
them  open,  so  possessed  with  excitement  she  could 
hardly  stand.  Gian  was  not  in  the  palace,  yet  she  seemed 
to  feel  his  eyes  upon  her;  to  hear  his  step;  catch  his  low 
whisper  of  her  name;  feel  his  touch  upon  her  shoulder. 

In  one  drawer  were  the  parchment  passports,  some  of 
them,  for  convenience,  already  signed  with  Visconti's 
name.  Hastily  Valentine  thrust  three  into  the  bosom  of 
her  dress.  But  where  were  the  palace  keys  ? 

She  turned  over  the  drawers  in  reckless  haste;  she 
found  Visconti's  seal  and  one  of  his  signet  rings,  and 
slipped  them  both  into  her  gown — still  she  could  not  find 
the  keys.  The  Duke's  pass-keys  that  unlocked  every  door. 


IN    THE   DUKE'S   ABSENCE  205 

The  seal  and  the  parchment  were  much — but  the 
keys  would  be  everything.  They  were  not  within  the 
bureau;  she  rifled  them  once  again — no,  they  were  not 
there. 

She  turned  away  in  vexation,  and  stood  a  second  ir- 
resolute. 

These  rooms  deserted,  yet  so  full  of  their  owner,  were 
terrifying.  Valentine  was  sick  with  fear — still,  she  must 
have  those  keys. 

Hastily  she  turned  over  every  article  in  the  room,  left 
as  Visconti  had  left  them — books,  papers,  ornaments. 

There  were  no  keys  there. 

She  looked  into  the  antechamber,  that  was  bare  and 
empty;  she  knew  it  too  well  to  suppose  what  she  sought 
could  be  hidden  there. 

In  desperation  she  retraced  her  steps  and  stood  again 
within  the  second  room.  An  impulse  made  her  lift  the 
arras,  and  she  beheld  another  door;  and  another  still; 
they  were  either  side  Visconti's  empty  seat.  She  tried 
one:  it  opened  immediately  on  a  black  marble  stairway, 
and  she  closed  it  again  with  a  thrill. 

Desperately,  she  opened  the  other  door;  held  to  her 
courage  desperately,  and  crossed  the  threshold.  The 
room  was  paneled  in  black  and  scarlet,  floor  and  ceiling 
inlaid  with  gold  and  black. 

A  great  mirror  hung  opposite  the  door;  either  side  a 
table,  covered  with  a  collection  of  articles  left  in  utter 
confusion. 

Valentine  turned  them  over  in  frantic  haste;  there  were 
laces  and  rings,  jewels  and  curios,  gloves,  and  strangely 
carved  bottles.  She  handled  the  last  carefully — she  knew 
not  what  they  might  contain. 

Still  there  were  no  keys. 

Valentine,  fast  losing  nerve,  felt  that  she  had  been  in 
these  rooms  for  hours,  the  silence  and  suggestion  op- 


206  THE   VIPER    OF    MILAN 

pressed  her  till  she  could  have  screamed — but  she  had 
risked  too  much  to  retreat. 

There  was  an  inlaid  bureau,  and  a  coffer  beneath  it; 
she  opened  the  bureau  and  sought  again;  rings,  daggers, 
treasures  from  Delia  Scala's  collections,  uncut  gems, 
powders,  scents,  rosaries,  charms,  missals — only  no  hint 
of  what  she  looked  for. 

On  top  of  the  coffer  was  a  roll  of  drawings,  the  plans  of 
the  new  church,  several  parchments,  petitions,  speci- 
mens of  marble  from  the  new  quarries,  carvings,  mail 
gauntlets — Valentine  swept  them  off  on  to  the  floor,  and 
then  threw  the  coffer  open. 

It  was  full  of  clothes — upon  the  velvet  of  the  topmost 
mantle  lay  the  small  bunch  of  master-keys. 

Valentine  grasped  it,  and  hid  it  in  the  little  pocket  at 
her  side. 

She  had  all  she  needed  now,  and  was  turning  in  relief 
to  go,  when,  struck  by  another  thought,  she  bent  again 
over  the  coffer,  lifted  the  contents  out  on  to  the  floor. 

Visconti's  doublets  were  mostly  too  splendid  for  her 
purpose,  but  she  seized  the  plainest,  wrapped  it  in  her 
mantle,  snatched  one  of  the  daggers  from  the  table. 
Then  making  rapidly  through  the  rifled  room,  with  a 
breathless  prayer  of  gratitude  for  safety,  she  stealthily 
pushed  open  the  door  on  to  the  balcony,  and  saw  the 
sunlight  and  her  page's  eager  face. 

"  Shut  the  door,"  she  whispered.  "  Climb  up  and  shut 
the  top  bolt." 

The  boy  obeyed. 

"  No  one  has  been?  " 

"  No,  lady;  you  have  been  quick." 

"Quick!"  gasped  Valentine.  "I  thought  I  had  been 
years." 

She  unclasped  her  mantle  and  gave  it  to  the  boy. 
"  Take  that  back  to  my  room — say  I  was  too  hot — give  it 


IN   THE   DUKE'S   ABSENCE  207 

to  Costanza — she  alone  is  in  my  confidence,  as  thou 
knovvest ;  let  no  one  stop  thee — and  listen — by  to-morrow 
we  shall  be  outside  the  gates." 

The  page  turned  away  with  her  mantle  on  his  arm,  and 
Valentine  leaned  against  the  wall,  and  with  her  hand 
upon  her  heart,  took  a  moment  to  steady  herself;  then 
with  excited  eyes,  but  even  steps,  she  too  walked  slowly 
along  the  balcony  toward  the  banqueting  hall. 

"  The  Duke  has  not  returned,"  said  de  Lana. 

He  spoke  a  little  anxiously,  and  looked  around  at  the 
others  who  filled  the  council  chamber,  a  few  nobles,  and 
the  principal  captains  of  the  army  and  the  mercenaries 
who  defended  Milan. 

"Meanwhile,  from  whom  do  I  take  my  orders?  Who 
commands  in  Milan?" 

"  I  cannot  answer  you,  my  lord,"  said  Giannotto. 
"  The  Duke  left  no  orders,  at  least  with  me." 

u  The  Duke  expected  not  to  be  gone  so  long,"  said 
Martin  della  Torre.  "  And  ill  it  will  be  for  him  if  he  stays 
too  long." 

"  Meanwhile,"  cried  de  Lana  again,  "  to  whom  are  we 
to  look?" 

The  two  pages  announced  the  Lady  Valentine. 

The  men  glanced  at  one  another. 

"  The  Lady  Valentine,"  repeated  Giannotto  to  de  Lana. 
"  She  may  tell  us  what  to  do." 

Not  that  he  did  not  well  know  what  terms  of  jeopardy 
she  stood  on  with  the  Duke — but  it  was  a  shifting  of 
responsibility  that  he  welcomed. 

All  in  the  room  rose  to  their  feet  to  greet  Valentine. 

She  was  leaning  on  d'Orleans'  arm,  Adrian  and  her 
women  following. 

She  looked  regal,  glorious.  There  was  a  fine  color  in 
her  cheeks. 


2o8  THE   VIPER   OF   MILAN 

De  Lana  kissed  her  hand.  She  did  not  wait  for  him  to 
speak,  her  eyes  wandered  over  the  assembled  faces. 

"  I  have  not  come  before,  my  lords,"  she  said,  "  because 
I  thought  the  Duke  might  at  any  moment  be  again 
among  us ;  but  now,  hearing  you  were  gathered  here  and 
that  there  was  some  question  of  the  Duke's  pleasure  in 
his  absence  as  to  who  should  issue  orders  for  him,  I  am 
come  to  answer  it  in  person." 

She  drew  nearer  the  head  of  the  table,  d'Orleans  drop- 
ping a  step  behind. 

"  My  lords,  the  Duke  left  me  in  power;  in  any  absence 
he  may  make,  enforced  or  at  his  pleasure,  I  rule  in 
Milan." 

"  You,  lady!  "  cried  Giannotto,  the  words  forced  from 
him  in  his  great  surprise. 

"  I,"  answered  Valentine.  "  Though  I  am  no  man — I 
am  a  Visconti.  Has  not  the  Duke  left  me  in  charge 
before,  de  Lana?  " 

She  turned  to  the  captain  as  she  spoke. 

"  In  the  late  war  with  Florence — yes,  lady." 

Valentine  smiled. 

"  Still,  I  need  not  ask  you  to  believe  me  on  that  only — 
lest  any  should  be  doubtful,  I  have  proofs." 

"  Methinks  they  are  needed  before  we  take  the  law 
from  thee,  lady,"  said  Martin  della  Torre,  roughly. 

Valentine  looked  at  him.  "  What  is  this,  Lord  della 
Torre?"  she  replied. 

And  she  laid  Visconti's  signet  ring  and  seal  upon  the 
table. 

Giannotto  choked  his  wonder  back. 

"  Does  the  Duke  give  these  to  any  save  those  he  trusts 
— and  these?"  She  showed  the  keys  lying  on  her  open 
hand:  the  key  of  the  armory,  the  treasury,  the  prisons: 
the  master-keys  of  the  whole  palace. 

"  He  gave  them  to  me — when,  Adrian?" 


IN   THE   DUKE'S   ABSENCE  209 

"  Yesterday  morning,  lady." 

"  Yesterday  morning.  Had  he  not  left  too  hastily  even 
for  speech,  he  would  have  made  it  public;  doubtless  he 
thought  you  would  accept  my  word — and  these  proofs." 

There  was  silence. 

"Are  you  convinced,  lords?"  asked  Valentine. 

"  I  am,"  said  Giannotto,  bowing  to  hide  the  twinkle  in 
his  ugly  eyes;  and  the  others,  each  according  to  his 
fashion,  murmured  an  assent. 

"  And  now  I  will  take  upon  me  my  brother's  duties/" 
continued  Valentine.  "  For  you,  de  Lana,  I  have  no  com- 
mands; only  look  well  to  the  arming  of  the  walls,  let  not 
my  brother  say  we  were  idle  in  his  absence;  I  would  have 
the  soldiers  in  readiness  to  guard  against  a  surprise — 
and  meanwhile  I  ask  your  company." 

De  Lana  bowed. 

"  On  a  visit  to  Delia  Scala's  wife.  She  is  a  priceless 
hostage,  and  ill  would  it  suit  with  our  safety  even  if  aught 
befell  her." 

"  You  would  visit  her  yourself,  lady?  " 

"  Aye,  myself,  since  with  me  lies  the  power  and  so  the 
responsibility,  and  I  would  not  shirk  it.  Lords,"  she  con- 
tinued generally,  "  we  can  do  little  else  but  wait — only 
hold  yourselves  in  readiness — for  the  Duke's  sake  and 
the  honor  and  security  of  Milan!  " 

She  put  her  hand  on  d'Orleans'  arm  again  and  left  the 
room,  followed  by  de  Lana  and  Giannotto. 

"  Now,  I  had  almost  forgot,  my  lord,"  she  said,  paus- 
ing with  a  smile.  "  My  page,  his  sister  and  his  brother, 
would  leave  Milan  to-morrow  for  Brescia — what  for, 
Adrian?  Indeed,  I  have  forgot — but  I  have  the  Duke's 
permission,  and  would  only  ask  your  countersign  upon 
this  passport." 

She  spread  before  the  captain  a  parchment  bearing 
Visconti's  signature. 


210  THE   VIPER   OF   MILAN 

"  This  is  no  time  to  be  leaving  Milan,  boy,"  said  de 
Lana. 

"  Our  father  is  sore  sick  at  Brescia,"  returned  Adrian. 
"  Dying,  my  lord." 

De  Lana  smiled. 

"  A  long  and  dangerous  journey  to  make  for  a  sick 
father." 

"  There  is  money  in  the  matter  for  these  children,  and 
it  is  my  pleasure,"  said  Valentine. 

De  Lana  bent  over  the  parchment,  and  affixed  his 
name,  and  in  that  second,  Valentine  glancing  at  Gian- 
notto,  their  eyes  met,  and  the  secretary  understood.  He 
had  meant  to  hasten  to  Visconti's  rooms;  he  meant  now 
not  to.  De  Lana  gave  the  parchment  back,  and  Valentine 
handed  it  to  Adrian. 

"  And  now,  Lord  d'Orleans,  will  you  come  with  us  to 
Isotta's  prison?" 

"  Truly,"  said  de  Lana,  "  the  lady  is  as  firmly  guarded 
as  at  any  time.  I  have  looked  to  that." 

"  Desperation  is  a  great  sharpener  of  the  wits,  my 
lord,"  smiled  Valentine  Visconti.  "  When  life  and  liberty 
are  at  stake,  the  weakest  will  venture — and  accomplish 
much." 

"  Indeed,  I  think  with  the  lady,"  put  in  Giannotto, 
"  that  too  much  zeal  cannot  be  shown  for  anything  so 
near  to  the  Duke's  heart  as  this." 

De  Lana  shrugged. 

"  We  will  go,  lady." 

Half  an  hour  later  Giannotto  and  the  captain  waited  in 
the  guard-room  of  Isotta's  prison. 

Valentine,  one  of  her  women  and  the  page,  had  en- 
tered the  prison  itself.  The  Duke's  signet  had  passed 
through  all  the  formidable  barriers.  It  was  late,  almost 
dark. 

"  This  shows  a  malice  in  the  lady  I  do  not  like,"  said 


IN   THE   DUKE'S    ABSENCE  211 

de  Lana.  "  What  need  she  to  triumph  over  her  brother's 
victim?  " 

"  She  is  a  Visconti,"  returned  the  secretary.  "  She  has 
something  of  the  Duke's  temper  and  his  strangeness — 
there  may  be  in  it  curiosity  also." 

"Curiosity?" 

"  To  behold  for  herself  if  Isotta  d'Este  be  as  fair 
as  she  is — to  spy  into  her  brother's  treatment  of  his  pris- 
oners." 

"  Have  you  seen  the  lady,  my  lord?  " 

"I? — never,"  replied  de  Lana.  "Nor  do  I  greatly 
care  to." 

Giannotto  made  no  reply;  he  felt  unusually  placid  and 
content.  He  saw  plainly  enough  that  Valentine  was  out- 
witting her  brother,  and  as  he  hated  the  Duke  and  ad- 
mired his  sister,  he  would  help  her  with  all  his  power  as 
long  as  he  ran  no  risks.  Visconti  had  not  left  him  in 
charge — and  for  asking  no  untimely  questions,  Valentine 
would  reward  him  well. 

With  some  excitement  he  awaited  her  return. 

"  She  is  a  long  time,"  said  de  Lana  impatiently. 

"  She  has  her  brother's  daring,"  thought  Giannotto. 
"  And  yet — she  would  hardly  dare  that — hardly." 

The  door  of  Isotta's  prison  was  opened  and  Valentine 
came  out,  followed  by  her  attendants — dark-cloaked  fig- 
ures keeping  in  the  shadow.  Adrian  closed  and  bolted 
the  door  behind  them  as  she  slowly  stepped  down  into 
the  room. 

"  The  prisoner  is  sick,"  said  Valentine.  "  Not  danger- 
ously so,  I  hope;  we  would  not  have  her  die  in  my 
brother's  absence.  She  has  fallen  asleep  and  must  not  be 
disturbed.  Where  is  her  woman  ?  " 

Luisa  shuffled  forward. 

"  You  will  not  rouse  your  prisoner  until  my  return  with 
a  physician,"  she  continued.  "  She  sleeps.  I  will  return 


212  THE   VIPER   OF   MILAN 

or  send;  till  then  let  no  one  pass  those  doors,  nor  you 
yourself." 

The  page  and  Valentine's  two  women  still  stood  on 
the  steps  in  the  shadow. 

"  Come,"  said  Valentine  suddenly.  "  Much  as  I  am 
relieved  to  see  my  brother's  hostage  in  such  security,  this 
is  gloomy  dark — come,  Costanza." 

The  two  ladies  moved  forward,  one  weeping  sadly, 
keeping  her  hands  to  and  fro  her  face. 

"  The  poor  lady  hath  unnerved  her,"  said  Valentine 
with  a  sharp  word  of  reproof,  and  she  crossed  to 
d'Orleans. 

"  Now  it  seems  to  me,"  said  de  Lana  to  Giannotto, 
"  that  only  one  lady  entered  with  the  Princess." 

"  Your  eyes  deceived  you,"  smiled  Giannotto.  "  I  am 
trained  to  watch;  I  saw  two  enter."  De  Lana  was  silent. 
The  two  ladies  had  joined  the  few  others  left  by  the 
outer  door,  the  soldier  kept  his  eyes  upon  the  one  who 
wept. 

Valentine  was  talking  gayly  to  d'Orleans,  and  led  the 
way  across  the  garden.  "  On  your  life  I  charge  you  to 
guard  the  prisoner,"  she  said  to  the  captain  and  the 
soldiers.  "  She  means  more  to  the  Duke  than  his  own  life 
almost — more  most  certainly  than  any  other,"  she  added 
meaningly. 

De  Lana,  watching  keenly,  still  kept  his  eyes,  as  they 
crossed  the  garden,  upon  that  second  lady,  who  puzzled 
him,  and  with  a  soldier's  indiscretion  he  whispered  his 
fears  to  Giannotto. 

"  My  Lady  Valentine,"  said  the  secretary  smiling,  "  my 
lord  here  thinks  you  entered  the  prison  with  one  lady 
and  came  out  with  two!  " 

Valentine  laughed. 

"  And  -who,  think  you,  was  my  second  woman,  then, 
lord?  Isotta  d'Este?  Nay,  I  will  satisfy  you." 


IN   THE   DUKE'S    ABSENCE  213 

"  Indeed,  lady,"  began  de  Lana  hastily,  but  Valentine 
cut  him  short. 

"  Come  here,  Costanza." 

The  girl  came  forward. 

"  Now  hold  the  torch  higher,  Adrian,"  laughed  Val- 
entine. 

The  light  fell  on  Costanza's  face. 

"  Is  that  Isotta  d'Este,  Giannotto  ?  "  she  asked. 

"  Nay,"  smiled  the  secretary. 

"  Now,  Giuletta,  come  hither  thou,"  said  Valentine. 

The  other  lady  stepped  forward  and  threw  back  her 
hood. 

"  Now,  my  lord,  Giannotto  shall  satisfy  you — is  this 
Isotta  d'Este?" 

The  secretary  did  not  flinch. 

"  My  lord,"  he  said,  "  you  must  know  Delia  Scala's 
wife  well  enough,  if  by  hearsay  only.  Look  yourself. 
This  is  not  she." 

They  moved  on  again,  de  Lana  uneasily  convinced. 

"  Ma  foi,"  said  the  silent  d'Orleans  suddenly.  "  It  is 
growing  very  damp.  These  Italian  nights  are  most  un- 
healthy." And  so  they  passed  into  the  palace. 

That  night  a  light  tap  was  heard  by  Giannotto,  sitting 
in  his  room,  and  Adrian  entered  and  put  two  emerald 
earrings  and  a  bag  of  ducats  on  the  table. 

"  For  the  lapse  of  memory/'  he  whispered,  and  went 
as  softly  and  as  swiftly  as  he  had  come. 


CHAPTER   TWENTY-ONE 

THE  DUKE'S   RETURN 

HAVING  succeeded  so  far,  Valentine  had  little  fear;  it 
was  now  an  almost  easy  matter  for  her  to  accomplish  the 
remainder  of  her  plan. 

She  had  the  palace  keys  in  her  possession,  and  they 
unlocked  secret  doors,  and  more  than  one  hidden  entry 
and  private  way,  entries  and  ways  she  knew  well,  and  yet 
otherwise  could  not  have  used. 

Soon  after  that  dawn  that  saw  Carrara  fall  by  the  way- 
side, Isotta  d'Este  and  Valentine  slipped  from  the  palace ; 
aided  by  Costanza,  and  joined  by  Adrian  in  the  long  gal- 
lery, they  passed  through  the  secret  door  that  led  through 
winding  passages  to  the  old  part  of  the  building,  and 
thence  by  another  entrance  almost  beneath  the  walls 
themselves. 

Valentine  wore  a  page's  suit,  her  upper  lip  darkened,  a 
heavy  cloak,  with  a  hood  such  as  was  worn  in  traveling, 
drawn  about  her,  and  by  her  side  Visconti's  dagger. 

Despite  her  anxiety,  her  passionate  desire  to  frustrate 
her  brother's  tyranny,  her  wild  eagerness  to  be  free  and 
outside  Milan,  Valentine  almost  enjoyed  the  part  that 
she  was  playing;  she  swaggered  more  than  Adrian,  and 
looked  with  some  scorn  on  the  weakness  of  Mastino's 
wife,  who  wept  with  her  happiness. 

The  thought  of  Gian's  rage  and  discomfiture  was  very 
sweet  to  Valentine,  almost  as  sweet  as  the  thought  of 
Conrad  in  Delia  Scala's  camp,  and  the  happy  life  of  free- 
dom coming. 

Rapidly  they  traversed  the  narrow  street  that  led  to  the 
214 


THE   DUKE'S    RETURN  215 

gate,  Valentine  erect  and  joyful,  Isotta  leaning  on  her 
arm,  happy  too,  with  a  deeper  happiness,  but  faint  and 
bewildered  from  her  long  imprisonment,  nervous  and 
fearful  of  every  sound. 

Behind  them  strode  Adrian,  with  eager  eyes  and  swell- 
ing heart — the  Lady  Valentine  had  smiled  on  him! 

But  the  lady's  thoughts  were  not  on  the  page.  With 
every  step  to  freedom,  Count  Conrad's  blue  eyes  and 
merry  laugh  rose  before  her  the  more  clearly,  and  she 
remembered  that  last  time  she  had  essayed  escape,  and 
he  had  near  given  her,  for  all  he  knew,  his  life.  He  was 
in  Delia  Scala's  camp. 

But,  hasten  as  she  might,  Isotta  dragged  her  on  yet 
faster.  Her  eagerness  was  pitiful  to  see;  Valentine  looked 
down  at  her  white  face  and  trembling  lips,  and  with  a 
sudden  impulse  stooped  and  kissed  her. 

It  was  still  so  early  that  the  streets  were  empty,  save 
at  the  gate  where  soldiers  clustered,  but  they  took  small 
heed,  for  the  three  looked  no  unusual  figures. 

"  Now  the  passports,"  whispered  Valentine.  "  Adrian 
must  show  them,  but  do  ye  stand  ready,  Isotta,  to  answer 
if  they  question.  I  dare  not,  lest  they  know  my  face. 
Remember,  Adrian,  an  escort  meets  us  half  a  league 
away,  and  'tis  a  quiet  village  that  we  travel  to." 

Isotta  d'Este  steadied  herself  against  the  wall,  and 
grasping  Valentine's  hand,  followed  Adrian  toward  the 
soldiers  on  guard. 

"Stand  to  thy  part  now,  Adrian,"  said  Valentine; 
*  remember  'tis  our  lives." 

A  growing  knot  of  men  stood  outside  the  guard-room ; 
there  seemed  to  be  some  great  excitement;  ringing  or- 
ders, loud  talk,  increasing  bustle.  No  one  took  heed  of 
the  three,  nor  even  noticed  them,  and  only  after  a  delay 
at  which  Isotta's  heart  sickened  could  Adrian  find  an 
officer  to  whom  to  show  the  passports. 


2i6  THE   VIPER   OF   MILAN 

He  glanced  them  over  hastily.  u  They  seem  to  be  in 
order,"  he  said,  then  suddenly  turned  to  the  woman  of 
the  three: 

"  What  do  ye  do  leaving  Milan,  mistress,  when  the 
country  is  in  arms,  with  no  escort  save  two  boys?" 

She  hesitated,  and  Valentine  stepped  forward  quietly. 

"  Our  father  is  sick,"  she  said,  "  and  'tis  a  pressing 
question  of  inheritance.  Our  kinsfolk  promise  us  an 
escort." 

The  officer  shrugged  his  shoulders. 

"  Tis  your  own  lives,"  he  said.  "  Later  in  the  day  ye 
can  go.  Not  now*  There  is  an  army  coming,  and  the 
Duke  in  front  of  it." 

Valentine  stood  still  and  calm. 

"  Our  father  is  very  ill,"  she  said:  "if  we  are  not  in 
time,  we  may  be  beggared.  Our  passports  were  signed 
by  the  Duke  himself.  We  demand  to  go." 

But  the  officer  had  hardly  heard  her.  A  fresh  detach- 
ment of  soldiers  had  ridden  up,  and  the  man's  thoughts 
and  eyes  were  engaged  in  half  a  dozen  places. 

Half  mad,  Isotta  sprang  forward,  shaking  off  Valen- 
tine's restraining  hand. 

"  We  must  pass,  we  must  through  this  moment,"  she 
cried.  "  Let  us  through,  and  we'll  make  it  worth  thy 
while." 

At  the  eagerness  of  her  tone  the  officer  turned,  sur- 
prised. 

"  Ye  are  very  anxious,"  he  said. 

"  For  the  love  of  Heaven,  a  matter  of  life  or  death!  " 
said  Isotta,  and  in  her  despair  she  would  have  knelt,  only 
Valentine  dragged  her  back  beside  her. 

"  It  is  very  serious,"  she  said.  "  After  the  Duke  has 
entered,  we  may  leave?"  she  asked.  "Indeed,  ye  can- 
not stay  us." 

"  Aye,  leave  after  the  Duke  has  entered,  but  now,  clear 


THE   DUKE'S   RETURN  217 

yourself  away;  my  lord  comes  apace,  some  allies  with 

him "  and  with  a  wave  of  his  halberd  he  swept  them 

back. 

Valentine  flushed  at  his  tone,  yet  drew  back,  her  hand 
on  the  page's  shoulder. 

But  Isotta  struggled  free  and  again  rushed  forward. 

"I  will  pass!"  she  cried  wildly.  "I  will!  I  have  not 
got  so  far  to  be  stopped  now!  " 

"  Oh!  thy  madness!  "  murmured  Valentine. 

But  Isotta  had  rushed  to  the  very  gate  itself,  and  was 
only  forced  back  by  the  pikes  at  her  breast. 

The  officer  looked  at  the  group  with  mistrust. 

"  What  is  this?  "  he  said.  "  What  means  this  passion?  " 

"  She  is  half  distraught,"  said  Valentine.  "  Beggary 
is  no  small  matter,  messer.  We  will  be  quiet,  though,  I 

promise  you,  until  the  Duke  is  past "  And  to  Isotta  at 

her  side  she  whispered,  holding  her  hand  tight,  "  Thou 
wilt  ruin  all ;  control  thyself." 

But  the  unfortunate  Isotta  was  calm  enough  now;  she 
followed  Valentine  without  resistance. 

And  now  Carrara's  army  had  reached  the  gates,  and 
fell  back  to  await  Visconti.  The  whole  city  was  in  tumult, 
the  streets  filling  with  excited  people;  there  was  mad 
shouting,  the  clash  of  arms.  "A  Visconti!  a  Visconti!  " 

"  We  shall  be  crushed  to  death,"  said  Adrian.  "  I  must 
find  you  shelter,  lady,"  and  he  looked  around  eagerly. 

"  The  Duke — the  Duke!"  and  the  great  gates  began 
to  open. 

"  It  is  useless!  "  cried  Valentine,  "  and  as  well  die  this 
way  as  another." 

"  There  is  a  door  here,"  said  Isotta;  and  turning  with 
difficulty,  they  saw  indeed  a  door,  deep  set  in  the  wall 
and  closely  shut. 

In  desperation,  Adrian  knocked  loudly.  "A  Vis- 
conti!" shouted  the  soldiers.  "A  Visconti!" 


218  THE   VIPER   OF   MILAN 

They  were  fast  being  hemmed  in  by  the  crowd,  sol- 
diers were  pouring  through  the  gates  in  companies, 
strange  soldiers,  the  new  allies;  and  as  Valentine  beheld 
them  in  strength  and  numbers,  and  heard  them  shout 
her  brother's  name,  she  felt  her  last  desperate  throw  was 
lost. 

"A  Visconti!" 

M  Knock  on  the  door  again,"  cried  Isotta,  "  knock 
again." 

Cavalry  was  passing,  going  at  a  trot,  so  close,  the  hoofs 
were  almost  in  their  faces,  the  foam  flew  over  their 
mantles. 

Then  in  wild  confusion  they  pressed  back  against  the 
door;  passing  close,  a  host  of  pennons  waved  from 
glittering  spears,  the  tossing  of  horses'  heads,  the 
champing  of  their  bits,  a  clamor  of  noises,  deafening 
shouts,  a  hurry  of  the  calvacade,  and  then — suddenly 
a  horse  drawn  up  close  to  the  shrinking  group  in  the 
shadow  of  the  doorway,  and  a  rider  looking  down  at 
them. 

Wild  with  terror,  Isotta  flung  herself  against  the  door, 
which  yielded.  Valentine  looked  up  at  the  man  who  had 
stopped — saw  her  brother's  face. 

"  Ah,  my  sister,"  he  said  between  his  teeth ;  and 
Valentine,  scarce  knowing  what  she  did,  fled  after  Isotta, 
the  page  behind,  closing  the  door  upon  Visconti. 

In  the  pleasant  courtyard  was  a  girl,  dressed  in  scarlet, 
who  rose,  surprised  at  their  disordered  aspect. 

"  'Tis  only  a  moment  gained,"  cried  Valentine, 
hoarsely.  "He  will  follow!" 

Isotta  turned  to  Graziosa  in  an  agony.  "  For  the  love 
of  Heaven  hide  us — for  the  love  of  Heaven,  from 
Visconti!" 

"Hide  us!"  said  Valentine  bitterly.  "Hide  us  from 
Visconti!" 


THE   DUKE'S    RETURN  219 

And  Graziosa  thought  of  the  secret  passage. 

"  I  will  help  you,"  she  said.  "  I  and  my  father  do  not 
love  Visconti " 

u  Quick,  maiden,"  cried  the  page.  "  I  see  the  spears 
are  motionless  outside.  I  will  guard  the  door." 

"They  will  kill  thee,"  cried  Isotta.  "Thou  art  too 
young." 

But  Valentine  turned  to  the  boy  and  gave  him  her 
beautiful  hand.  "  Guard  the  door,  gain  us  a  moment, 
Adrian — for  me,"  she  said,  and  hurried  across  the  sunny 
courtyard,  followed  by  Graziosa  and  Isotta. 

"For  me!"  repeated  Adrian,  and  set  himself  before 
the  door  proudly,  with  flashing  eyes  and  dagger  drawn. 
He  was  only  a  boy,  a  page,  she  a  princess,  but  he  could 
set  his  life  against  her  smile,  and  think  himself  well 
paid. 

Graziosa,  panting  with  excitement,  hurried  them  into 
the  house,  and  into  the  lower  room  from  which  the  secret 
passage  opened.  The  pleasant  little  home  was  still  half 
dismantled  from  the  recent  attack  of  the  Germans,  the 
neat  trimness  of  the  cool  chambers  gone. 

At  their  entrance  Agnolo  came  forward  in  alarm,  but 
at  his  daughter's  hurried  explanation,  turned  willingly 
to  the  secret  door  he  kept  well  concealed.  For  the  little 
painter  took  no  thought  of  what  it  must  mean  to  shelter 
any  from  Visconti's  wrath. 

"Quick!"  cried  Valentine  imperiously.  "How  long 
can  one  page  keep  that  door?  " 

"  The  poor  boy!  "  moaned  Isotta,  hanging  half  lifeless 
upon  Valentine's  arm.  "  Unhappy  boy — they  will  kill 
him!" 

Valentine  looked  at  her  with  scorn. 

"  Canst  thou  think  of  a  page  now?  "  she  cried.  "  Think 
of  Delia  Scala.  Quick!" 

But  the  door  would  not  yield,  and  while  Agnolo  strug- 


220  THE   VIPER   OF   MILAN 

gled  with  the  spring,  a  crash  was  heard,  a  cry,  the  ring 
of  armor  and  the  tramp  of  feet. 

"  The  door  is  down,"  said  Valentine.  "  We  are  lost." 

"  I  cannot  move  the  spring,"  cried  Agnolo. 

"Quick!  quick!"  shrieked  Graziosa,  but  even  as  she 
spoke,  the  chamber  door  burst  open  and  a  man  stepped 
in ;  there  were  others  at  his  heels,  but  he  entered  alone. 

Agnolo,  starting  back,  dropped  his  concealments  into 
place  and  trembled  for  his  secret  and  these  poor  folk 
who  had  not  escaped  Visconti. 

The  man  who  entered  was  in  black,  it  was  all  that 
could  be  seen  in  the  dark,  disordered  chamber,  but  Val- 
entine needed  no  light  to  tell  her  who  it  was.  Isotta  sank 
to  the  ground,  shrieking  wildly. 

"  Oh,  father,  father!  "  cried  Graziosa,  agonized,  "  save 
them! " 

The  newcomer  laid  his  hand  on  Valentine's  shoulder, 
she  standing  calm  and  erect,  and  turned  his  face  to 
Graziosa. 

"From  me?"  he  said,  and  his  voice  was  very  sweet. 
"From  me,  Graziosa?" 

"Ambrogio!  Ambrogio!  "  cried  the  girl.  "What  do 
you  here?" 

Valentine  would  have  spoken  scornfully,  but  Visconti 
turned  his  eyes  on  her,  and  she  dared  not.  The  courtyard 
was  full  of  armed  men. 

"  Ambrogio!  "  repeated  the  painter  in  dismay.  "  What 
does  this  mean?  " 

Visconti  laughed  pleasantly,  but  his  hand  tightened  on 
his  sister's  shoulder. 

"  It  means,  thy  daughter  hath  found  a  lover  worthy  of 
her  in  Visconti." 

Visconti !  As  in  a  flash  the  little  painter  saw  explained 
a  thousand  things  that  had  perplexed  him.  Visconti!  His 
quickly  working  brain  had  grasped  it  and  summed  it  up 


THE   DUKE'S    RETURN  221 

before  Graziosa  could  even  realize  she  heard  aright.  She 
stared  there  silent,  with  a  piteous  look  upon  her  face. 
Visconti  turned  to  his  prisoners. 

"  Take  Isotta  d'Este  back  to  her  prison,"  he  said, 
curtly,  and  a  group  of  soldiers  advanced. 

Isotta  clung  to  Valentine  in  an  agony. 

u  At  last!  "  said  Visconti,  in  her  ear,  "  at  last  thy  calm 
fails  thee! " 

And  then  he  stood  aside  watching,  while  she  implored 
in  turn  Valentine  and  Agnolo  to  save  her,  in  incoherent 
words  of  anguish. 

"  I  cannot  bear  it!"  she  cried.  "I  have  borne  it  too 
long!  O  God,  have  pity  on  me!  Have  pity  on  me,  I 
have  not  the  courage  to  face  it  again.  I  have  not  the 
courage !  " 

Visconti  turned  to  her  in  a  savage  triumph  of  hate  he 
scarcely  troubled  to  conceal. 

"  Find  thy  courage  again,  where  thou  found'st  it  be- 
fore," he  said.  "  Thy  husband  is  not  dead,  although  he 
leaves  thee  to  pine  in  prison.  He  may  remember  thee 
even  yet." 

Isotta  sprang  up  at  the  taunt,  wild-eyed. 

"  Keep  thy  face  away  from  me ! "  she  shrieked.  "  Ye 
have  slain  him!  Kill  me  too!" 

Then,  seeing  resistance  useless,  and  those  who  would 
have  saved  her  helpless,  Delia  Scala's  unhappy  wife  sur- 
rendered quietly ;  only,  as  she  crossed  the  courtyard  with 
her  guard,  and  saw  the  tree-tops  wave  above  the  walls 
and  the  sky  that  was  outside  Milan,  a  cry  rose  that  made 
the  hardened  soldiers  wince. 

"Mastino!  Oh,  Mastino!" 

Visconti  watched  her  out  of  sight,  then  turned  again  to 
Graziosa,  his  hand  still  on  his  sister's  shoulder. 

"  Graziosa,"  he  murmured. 

But  the  girl  made  no  answer;  she  was  huddled  on  the 


222  THE   VIPER   OF   MILAN 

bench  that  ran  along  the  wall,  looking  out  with  fright- 
ened eyes. 

As  he  spoke  she  shuddered,  and  crouched  closer  to  the 
wall. 

But  Agnolo  answered,  and  Visconti,  serene  in  his 
pride,  did  not  notice  the  painter's  tone. 

"  My  daughter  is  dazed  with  her  surprise,  lord,  as  who 
would  not  be?  Graziosa,  speak  to  the  Duke,  speak  to 
thy  Ambrogio,"  and  he  gripped  her  hand  fiercely.  But 
Graziosa  rose  at  his  touch,  and  snatching  her  hand 
away,  fled  from  the  room,  with  one  wild  look  toward 
Visconti. 

"  Ye  see,  my  lord,  she  is  bewildered,  she  can  scarce 
believe  it  true " 

"  It  matter  not  for  now,"  said  Visconti.  "  Thy  daugh- 
ter loves  me,  painter,  and  none  the  less,  I  doubt  not,  that 
I  am  Duke  of  Milan;  and  she  shall  be  my  duchess,  as  I 
have  vowed." 

"  Truly,  the  honor  is  more,  I  think,  than  she  can  bear," 
and  Agnolo  bowed  to  the  ground. 

*  I  have  won  a  wife  for  myself — a  wife  who  loves  me 
for  myself  alone." 

"  Ah,  she  loves  thee  for  what  thou  art  not,"  cried  Val- 
entine aloud. 

But  Visconti  took  no  heed  of  her. 

"  Think  of  thy  daughter  as  a  precious  charge,  Agnolo," 
he  continued.  "  Meanwhile  I  leave  one  of  my  captains 
here  on  guard.  That  last  attack  on  thee  and  thine  came 
near  costing  me  too  dear." 

"  My  daughter "  began  the  painter,  but  Visconti 

interrupted  him: 

"  Thy  daughter  will  be  my  wife,  painter;  remember  it, 
and  heed  her  safety.  And  thou,  Valentine,  come  with 
me,  and  I  will  tell  thee  in  private  how  Count  Conrad's 
folly  lost  Delia  Scala  thy  dear  brother,  and  gave  me  the 


THE   DUKE'S   RETURN  223 

day — and  an  army."  He  turned  to  go;  Agnolo  made  an 
impulsive  movement  forward,  but  checked  himself. 

"  Tell  Graziosa,"  said  Visconti,  "  she  is  my  duchess  on 
the  day  my  sister  weds  the  Duke  d'Orleans." 

Visconti  crossed  the  courtyard;  the  soldiers  closed 
around  him  and  his  captive ;  Agnolo  sprang  forward,  and 
drawing  the  little  dagger  he  wore,  hurled  it  after  him. 

It  fell  unheard,  unseen,  amid  the  trampling  feet. 

"  Your  hand — hurts  me,"  gasped  Valentine,  suddenly 
very  white  and  trembling. 

A  soldier  was  pulling  Adrian's  dead  body  from  the  gate 
to  allow  of  the  Duke's  passing,  and  she,  dragged  in  his 
grasp,  had  almost  stepped  on  him.  This  was  what  it  had 
ended  in — Adrian  had  flung  away  his  life  for  nothing. 

Visconti's  voice  broke  upon  her. 

"  Take  this  cloak  to  hide  thy  garb ;  I  could  not  have 
Milan  see  thee  thus — even  if  thou  hast  lost  all  shame." 

A  ring  of  soldiers  kept  the  crowd  back,  all  the  crowd 
the  narrow  streets  permitted.  The  high  morning  sun 
sparkled  on  their  halberds,  spears,  and  armor;  the  dazzle 
of  scarlet  and  gold  from  their  trappings  was  blinding  in 
its  confusion,  and  Valentine  hid  her  eyes — from  that  and 
the  dead  boy's  face. 

"A  Visconti!  A  Visconti!"  came  the  shout.  The 
horses  of  the  Padua^j  were  champing  impatiently,  Vis- 
conti's charger  reared  between  its  holders-in. 

"  Now,  where  is  my  lord  ?  "  cried  de  Lana,  riding  up 
breathless  through  the  noise  and  glitter — "  I  have  been 
outwitted " 

"  Hush !  "  said  Visconti  softly.  "  I  am  here,  de  Lana, 
— and  so  is  she  who  outwitted  thee,"  and  he  pointed  to 
the  cloaked  figure  beside  him.  "  Take  her  ahead  in  se- 
crecy, and  swiftly,  to  the  palace." 

The  command  and  the  movement  were  lost  in  the  con- 
fusion.   The  horsemen  were  forming  up  behind  Visconti, 


224  THE   VIPER   OF   MILAN 

the  walls  and  street  crowded;  from  every  distant  win- 
dow and  house-top  shouting  spectators  gazed  on  the 
gorgeous  scene  below. 

Visconti  drew  his  sword,  and  held  its  glittering  cross 
high  up  against  the  sapphire  sky. 

"  Now  glory  be  to  God,  His  angels,  and  San'  Apol- 
linare,  my  patron  saint,  that  I  am  entered  into  my 
city  again;  and  for  my  most  miraculous  escape,  there 
shall  be  an  altar  of  jasper  and  serpentine  in  the  Lord's 
new  church — and  therein  hear  my  vow!  " 

He  lowered  his  sword  and  kissed  the  hilt,  then  turning 
in  his  saddle  to  the  men  who  had  followed  him  as  their 
new  leader:  "Have  I  not  led  you  well,  Paduans,"  he 
cried,  "  safe  into  the  fairest  city  of  Lombardy  ?  Do  you 
repent  you  of  following  a  Visconti  through  the  proud 
gates  of  Milan — Milan  that  I  have  made  more  beautiful 
than  Ravenna,  and  stronger  than  Rome?  I  am  your 
leader  now,  knights  of  Padua,  and  Gian  Visconti  never 
yet  led  to  aught  but  victory  or  turned  against  a  foe  he 
did  not  crush !  Once  already  have  I  trampled  Delia  Scala 
to  the  dust,  and  ridden  through  nine  wide  cities  of  his, 
and  spoiled  his  palaces  to  pay  my  soldiers,  with  pay  that 
men  would  die  to  win! 

"  I  do  not  pay  with  ducats,  Paduans,  or  measure  my 
rewards  with  coin;  follow  me,  and  I  will  give  you  cities 
for  your  plunder,  and  nobles  to  hold  for  ransom.  Like 
to  the  thunder  will  I  circle  Lombardy,  and  city  after  city 
shall  surrender  me  its  keys,  and  the  meanest  soldier  in 
my  train  shall  gain  him  fame  and  riches  from  my  spread- 
ing greatness  such  as  kings  might  envy!  Now,  who  but 
a  faint  heart  would  follow  Delia  Scala,  who  lost  into  my 
hands  his  very  wife?  So  long  as  there  is  a  Visconti,  he 
rules  in  Italy !  " 

Shout  after  shout,  deafening,  triumphant,  greeted  his 
words,  the  very  air  filled  with  the  spirit  of  victory,  the 


THE   DUKE'S    RETURN  225 

madness  of  triumph,  the  glamour  of  gold,  the  flash  of 
scarlet,  the  high  glitter  of  spears,  that  waved  to  and  fro, 
the  mad  plunging  of  a  thousand  horses  blinded  with  the 
dazzle  of  the  sun ;  and  from  the  throats  of  the  thronging 
army,  from  the  throats  of  the  thronging  citizens,  one  wild 
cry  arose:  "Visconti!  Visconti!  San'  Apollinare!  Vis- 
conti  and  Milan!  The  Duke  rides  the  city! " 


CHAPTER   TWENTY-TWO 

THE   SECRET   PASSAGE 

STANDING  on  the  steps  of  the  old  castle,  Delia  Scala 
looked  down  on  his  diminished  army;  at  least  they  were 
purged  of  traitors,  he  thought  grimly;  what  remained 
were  Veronese,  and  true. 

At  the  news  of  Carrara's  treachery,  d'Este  had 
marched  aside  to  Mantua,  whither  Vincenzo  had  been 
sent. 

The  sun  was  dazzling  down,  a  glory  of  gold,  sparkling 
on  the  still  wet  leaves,  and  the  brilliant  colors  of  the 
pennons  and  banners  that  floated  above  the  tents. 

Delia  Scala  greeted  Ligozzi  and  his  son. 

Tomaso  would  have  spoken  eagerly,  but  his  father 
hushed  him. 

"  The  news  is  most  important,  my  lord,"  he  said,  "  best 
tell  it  you  in  private."  Then,  unable  to  restrain  himself, 
he  added  in  a  whisper :  "  Oh,  the  saints  and  angels  be 
praised,  I  think  we  have  Milan !  " 

Mastino  della  Scala,  as  he  led  the  way  back  to  the 
castle,  trembled,  almost  with  awe.  It  was  a  sign  from 
heaven. 

As  they  gained  the  chamber,  and  Ligozzi  closed  the 
door,  Tomaso  burst  out  into  his  tale,  half-crazy  with 
delight. 

"  It  seems  you  have  success,"  said  Mastino  quietly. 

But  he  seated  himself  at  the  extemporized  table,  and 
with  his  hand  shaded  his  face ;  it  was  almost  more  than 
he  could  bear. 

"  The  passage  leads  into  Milan,"  said  Ligozzi  breath- 


THE    SECRET    PASSAGE  227 

lessly.  "  It  is  large  enough  to  admit  an  army,  and  opens 
into  the  house  of  one  who  is  our  friend.  That,  my  lord, 
is  why  we  have  been  so  long.  The  good  fortune  is 
miraculous,  for  we  were  brought  out  into  the  house  of 
a  man  mad  against  Visconti,  and  thinking  of  nothing 
but  revenge.  He  alone  knows  of  this  passage,  and 
through  it  will  admit  your  men." 

"  Ah ! "  Mastino  drew  a  deep  breath  and  raised  his 
eyes.  "  God  hath  heard  me,  Ligozzi." 

"  It  was  true,"  cried  Ligozzi.  "  Oh,  lord,  he  was  in- 
deed here.  Only  this  morning  he  re-entered  Milan, 
Carrara's  army  behind  him ;  returned  in  time  to  stay 
his   sister,   who   loathes   her  enforced  marriage,   and — 

and "  he  suddenly  faltered  in  his  recital  as  Tomaso 

laid  his  hand  upon  his  shoulder. 

Mastino  looked  at  them  keenly. 

"  And  what  ?  "  he  asked. 

"  I  was  going  to  say,  lord,  that  in  his  absence,  Valen- 
tine Visconti,  trying  to  escape,  was  recaptured  by  the 
Duke  himself  in  this  Agnolo's  house." 

"  Is  it  for  that  he  hates  Visconti  ?  "  asked  Delia  Scala. 

"  Nay,  my  lord,  he  hath  other  wrongs  ":  and  Ligozzi 
proceeded  to  relate  the  tale  the  little  painter  had  poured 
into  his  ears  that  morning. 

" '  Not  for  naught  did  I  conceal  that  passage ! '  he 
cried  to  me.  "  My  lord,  truly  it  was  not  for  naught,  see- 
ing we  shall  thereby  slay  Visconti!  " 

"  This  man,  Agnolo,  he  is  to  be  trusted  ?  "  said  Mas- 
tino. 

"  If  ever  man  was!  He  would  see  Milan  in  ashes,  an 
Visconti  were  among  them." 

"And  the  girl?" 

"  I  did  not  see  the  girl,  but  methinks  she  has  the  same 
cause  to  hate  Visconti." 

"  And  that  no  one  should  know  of  this  passage,  it  is 


228  THE   VIPER   OF   MILAN 

strange,"  mused  Delia  Scala.  "  Thou  art  sure  there  is 
no  trap,  Ligozzi  ?  Much  disappointment  makes  me  wary." 

"  I  will  stake  my  life  there  is  no  trap,  my  lord,  and 
that  this  man,  Agnolo  Vistarnini,  is  dealing  with  the 
truth." 

"  Vistarnini,"  repeated  Mastino.  "  Methinks  I  know 
the  name — a  painter,  didst  thou  say  ?  " 

"  A  painter,  my  lord ;  the  house  is  near  the  western 
gate." 

"  The  western  gate !  I  remember.  It  was  the  day  I 
found  von  Schulembourg.  Truly  I  think  we  may  trust 
the  man  that  I  remember,"  and  Mastino  faintly  smiled. 
"  There  is  no  guile  in  him — nor  in  his  daughter ;  poor 
lady !  she  was  happy  then !  " 

"  Visconti  has  left  a  guard  of  soldiers  to  protect  the 
house ;  but  not  so  many  that  they  will  not  be  easily  dis- 
posed of.  Vistarnini  speaks  them  fair,  they  have  no 
suspicion." 

Mastino  rose  and  held  out  his  hand.  "  So  thou  hast 
done  it,  my  friend,  thou  and  thy  son.  I  owe  thee  much, 
Ligozzi.  A  poor  man's  thanks  are  but  an  halting  gift; 
some  day,  however,  the  Duke  of  Verona  shall  tell  thee 
what  his  gratitude  is  worth,  my  friend.  I  thank  God, 
Ligozzi,  for  one  friend ! " 

In  a  thick  wood  near  Milan,  a  man  on  a  white  horse 
was  slowly  picking  his  way  through  the  dense  under- 
growth. The  trees  were  close,  and  in  their  dark  shadow 
the  place  was  nigh  as  black  as  night. 

Great  tufts  of  flowers  grew  in  the  cool  shadows.  There 
were  no  signs  of  life,  save  the  birds  whirring  through 
the  leaves,  the  plants  nodding  in  the  breeze. 

The  rider  dismounted,  and  tied  his  horse  to  the  low 
bough  of  a  large  beech,  flinging  himself  on  the  space  of 
cleared  ground  beneath  with  a  sigh.  He  wore  a  dress 


THE    SECRET    PASSAGE  229 

of  peacock-colored  velvet,  tumbled  and  torn,  and,  save 
for  a  richly-jeweled  dagger,  more  for  ornament  than  use, 
was  unarmed ;  but  in  the  fight  from  which  Count  Conrad 
had  just  engaged,  though  a  fight  with  two,  weapons  had 
not  been  needed;  persuasion  had  done  the  work,  and 
he  had  come  out  victorious. 

In  a  bundle  on  his  saddle  hung  his  spoils,  and  as 
he  discontentedly  sucked  the  scratches  on  his  wrist,  he 
looked  at  them  with  interest  and  triumph. 

Presently  he  fell  to  fingering  his  hair,  then,  sitting 
suddenly  upright,  drew  his  dagger  with  fine  resolution. 

He  seized  the  first  of  his  long  curls  and  severed  it. 

Grimly,  not  giving  himself  time  to  pause,  he  pro- 
ceeded to  the  next,  and  one  by  one  hacked  them  from  his 
head,  his  beautiful  blond,  perfumed  curls. 

Conrad  sighed  as  he  saw  them  lying  on  the  grass, 
and  felt  his  shorn  head.  He  lc.iged  for  a  mirror  in 
which  to  see  the  extent  of  his  disfigurement,  but  there 
was  not  even  a  pool  near. 

Disconsolately  he  arose,  and  detaching  the  bundle  from 
the  saddle,  he  laid  it  upon  the  ground  and  opened  it. 

It  contained  a  monk's  robe,  a  rosary,  a  book,  a  wallet, 
and  a  girdle. 

Conrad  opened  the  wallet,  and  found  food  therein,  and 
he  was  growing  hungry ;  but  when  he  came  to  consider 
it,  he  sickened  at  its  coarseness. 

Scraps  of  fat,  sour,  hard  cakes,  mostly  soaked  in  stale 
wine — the  refuse  of  farmhouses. 

"  Have  I  parleyed  with  and  robbed  a  begging  friar  ?  " 
cried  the  Count  in  high  disgust,  and  flung  the  wallet  far 
into  the  bushes.  "  Food  for  hogs ! " 

Then  with  many  sighs  he  removed  the  peacock-colored 
doublet  and  hose,  and  donned  the  monk's  garb,  drawing 
the  hood  over  his  shorn  head,  tying  the  girdle  around  his 
waist. 


230  THE  VIPER   OF  MILAN 

The  robe  was  rather  short,  and  Conrad  noticed  with 
dismay  that  his  laced  white  shoes  showed  beneath. 

"  Saint  Dominick,  curse  him,  but  I  forgot  to  take  his 
sandals !  "  he  cried  in  a  passion. 

But  passion  did  not  avail  him ;  he  must  go  barefoot. 

"  Bleeding  feet  will  complete  the  disguise,"  he  thought 
bitterly,  and  flung  off  his  shoes  and  stockings. 

The  robe  was  rather  dirty ;  Count  Conrad's  fastidious 
nostrils  fancied  it  smelled  of  the  roadside,  "  where  the  old 
wretch  has  often  slept,  I  warrant,"  he  said,  then  crossed 
himself  in  contrition  at  the  sacrilege. 

Next  he  hung  the  rosary  and  crucifix  about  his  neck 
— it  was  hatefully  heavy — and  the  wallet  about  his  shoul- 
der. The  strap  galled  him,  and  the  wretched  Count 
moaned  at  his  fate. 

He  was  bound  to  admit  he  had  brought  it  on  himself ; 
he  would  carry  it  thrc.jgh;  and  with  a  truly  heroic  air 
he  strapped  the  velvet  doublet  on  the  horse,  and  taking 
the  bridle,  made  his  way  back  toward  the  road. 

On  reaching  it  he  flung  the  reins  over  the  steed's  back, 
and  turned  him  adrift  toward  Brescia;  then,  with  resolu- 
tion in  his  heart  and  tears  in  his  eyes,  Count  Conrad  von 
Schulembourg,  with  feet  bare  on  the  stony  road,  made 
painful  progress  toward  Milan. 


CHAPTER   TWENTY-THREE 

FOR   LOVE  OF  AMBROGIO 

IT  was  early  morning  of  the  second  day  since  Ligozzi 
had  discovered  the  secret  passage,  and  Milan  lay  peace- 
ful, for  in  those  two  days  there  had  been  no  fighting; 
but  the  calm  was  the  lull  before  the  storm. 

Agnolo  Vistarnini  stood  in  front  of  the  secret  door, 
with  shining  eyes.  The  spring  had  just  slipped  back 
behind  Tomaso,  the  last  arrangements  had  been  made; 
to-night  Delia  Scala  should  enter  Milan — and  he,  Agnolo, 
would  be  the  means. 

Agnolo  looked  across  the  courtyard  now  in  shadow  to 
where  a  soldier  kept  his  guard.  The  guard  was  the 
Duke's  orders,  and  to  the  painter's  face  the  soldiery 
showed  all  respect;  yet  well  Agnolo  knew  they  laughed 
at  Visconti's  whim,  and  shrugged  their  shoulders  at  the 
pale-faced  girl  who  was  to  be  Duchess  of  Milan.  And 
the  painter  had  heard  their  talk  among  themselves.  "  It 
was  likely  enough  for  the  Duke  to  amuse  himself  in 
disguise,"  they  said,  "  but  to  marry  a  painter's  daughter !  " 

"  It  were  more  reasonable  had  he  dowered  her  to  wed 
another,  and  yet  'tis  of  a  piece  with  all  his  madness !  " 

"  I  would  sooner  see  her  dead,"  thought  the  little 
painter,  "  than  Duchess  of  Milan,  the  Visconti's  wife." 

The  white  agonized  face  of  Isotta  rose  before  him,  the 
fierce  rebellious  hate  that  marred  Valentine  Visconti's 
beauty,  and  Visconti's  own  expression  as  he  stooped  to 
mock  a  woman  in  his  power;  the  gallant  heart  of  the 
little  painter  throbbed  with  wrath  and  honest  fury  against 

231 


232  THE   VIPER   OF   MILAN 

the  tyrant  who  played  with  hearts,  who  thought  the  offer 
of  a  crown  he  had  usurped  atoned  for  crimes  as  black 
as  hell. 

"  To-night,  to-night !  "  he  murmured  to  himself  as  he 
mounted  the  stair  to  seek  for  his  daughter.  "  To-night 
we  shall  both  avenge  the  use  of  us  to  please  a  whim." 

He  entered  his  studio ;  it  was  empty,  the  two  pictures 
stood  with  their  backs  to  the  room.  Agnolo  looked  at 
them  grimly.  How  often  had  Visconti  sat  painting  that 
St.  Catherine,  unarmed!  how  easy  then  to  have  struck 
him  low!  What  would  Lombardy  have  said! 

"  Graziosa !  "  he  called.  He  was  eager  to  tell  her  To- 
maso  had  been  again. 

He  never  doubted  for  a  moment  that  her  love  had 
turned,  as  his  had  done,  to  a  passion  of  outraged  pride. 

"  Graziosa ! " 

But  no  answer  came,  and  Agnolo  mounted  the  stair 
and  entered  her  little  chamber  in  the  turret.  It  was 
circular,  lit  by  three  long  windows,  and  now  ablaze  with 
the  morning  sun. 

The  walls  were  hung  with  painted  linen,  faded  browns, 
and  in  each  window  stood  a  rough  stone  jar  of  lilies, 
drooping  neglected  in  the  sun. 

Seated  on  the  floor  near  one  of  them  was  Graziosa,  her 
face  buried  in  her  hands,  but  at  her  father's  entrance 
she  raised  her  head  and  looked  out  of  the  window. 

"  Graziosa,"  said  Agnolo,  and  there  was  a  boyish 
triumph  in  his  voice,  "  Visconti  dies  to-night." 

She  did  not  move. 

"  To-night  Delia  Scala  enters  Milan ;  there  is  no  chance 
of  failure." 

"  None  ?  "  she  asked.  Her  voice  was  dull. 

"  None !  Ah,  Graziosa,  Visconti  roused  more  danger- 
ous foes  than  he  reckoned  on  when  he  played  with  me 
and  thee." 


FOR    LOVE    OF   AMBROGIO  233 

The  girl  moved  impatiently ;  her  father's  words  jarred 
on  her  senses. 

"  Father,  I  am  tired,"  she  said  wearily,  "  and  my  heart 
is  very  sore " 

"  Never  fear,  my  daughter ;  to-night,  to-night !  " 

Graziosa  turned  to  him;  her  face  was  white  and 
strained. 

"But  if— he— the  Duke — should  not  be— be  slain?" 
she  said.  "  He  has  a  new  army  here  in  Milan." 

"  Aye,  but  a  surprise  at  dead  of  night  is  worth  two 
armies  to  the  others.  The  palace  is  near;  Visconti  will 
be  in  their  hands  even  while  he  sleeps " 

"In  Delia  Scala's  hands "  she  breathed.  "That 

means,  indeed — he — O  God,  it  means  Ambrogio  dies !  " 

The  last  words  were  breathed  so  low  Agnolo  did  not 
hear  them,  but  he  saw  the  pain  on  his  daughter's  face 
and  came  gently  to  her  side. 

"  Forgive  me  if  I  pain  thee,  my  dearest.  God  knows, 
if  I  speak  lightly  'tis  but  to  hide  a  bitter  grief " 

But  Graziosa  interrupted  him  with  a  passionate  cry, 
and  seizing  his  hands  covered  them  with  kisses. 

"  Take  no  heed  of  me !  "  she  cried.  "  I  am  half  dis- 
traught— soon  I  shall  be  better." 

"  After  to-night  there  will  be  a  shadow  gone  from 
off  us,  Graziosa,  and  not  from  off  us  alone." 

"There  is  no  chance  of  failure?"  asked  the  girl 
again. 

"  Comfort  thyself — none." 

Graziosa  said  no  more,  and  Agnolo  turned  to  leave, 
for  there  were  the  soldiers  still  to  hoodwink,  but  at  the 
door  his  daughter  called  him : 

"  At  what  hour  do  Delia  Scala's  men  enter  ? "  she 
asked,  in  a  low  voice,  her  head  still  turned  away. 

"  One  hour  after  midnight,"  returned  the  little  painter. 

"  Delia  Scala  leads  them?" 


234  THE   VIPER   OF   MILAN 

"  Delia  Scala  himself,"  said  Agnolo,  proudly.  "  He  is 
a  noble  prince." 

His  daughter  made  no  answer;  long  after  the  little 
painter  had  left  her  again  alone  she  sat  there  listless  in 
the  sunny,  silent  chamber,  listless,  with  her  white  face, 
leaning  back  against  the  window  frame. 

"  There  was  no  possibility  of  failure."  The  words  beat 
upon  her  heart  till  she  thought  it  would  break. 

"  To-morrow  he  will  be  dead !  " 

She  sprang  to  her  feet  with  sudden  energy;  the  sun 
was  rising  high — the  time  was  short. 

It  was  silent,  maddeningly  silent ;  Graziosa  grew  afraid 
of  it — the  silence  and  the  sun ;  she  wished  she  were  dead ; 
it  came  to  her  to  kill  herself,  yet  full  well  she  knew 
that  she  had  not  the  courage. 

She  twisted  her  damp,  cold  hands  together;  she  won- 
dered if  she  shut  her  eyes  and  leaped  from  the  window 
she  might  die  without  knowing  it,  and  nerving  herself 
looked  out. 

But  the  stone  courtyard  seemed  far  away,  hard  and 
cruel,  and  she  winced  back  again. 

In  her  own  heart  she  knew  she  was  a  coward,  and 
wept  to  think  it  was  so — wept  to  think  she  could  not 
rise  to  act,  in  any  way  to  act. 

There  was  no  tinge  of  greatness  in  Graziosa's  soul; 
she  would  have  gone  through  life,  if  unmolested,  merry, 
gentle,  sweetness  and  happiness  itself,  content  to  always 
stand  aside  for  others,  eager  to  do  little  kindnesses  that 
came  within  her  compass,  never  tempted  because  never 
seeing  the  temptation,  happy  in  utter  simplicity  and  ig- 
norance ;  but  a  great  moment  found  her  wanting,  a  crisis 
she  could  not  face ;  as  she  tried  to  think,  right  and  wrong 
grew  strangely  confused.  She  only  knew  she  loved 
Visconti,  and  that  he  was  in  danger. 

She  was  too  weak  to  kill  herself,  although  she  did 


FOR   LOVE   OF   AMBROGIO  235 

not  shrink  from  the  cowardice  of  it,  only  from  the  pain ; 
she  was  too  weak  to  tell  her  father  she  still  loved 
Visconti;  she  could  not  bear  to  see  his  face  should  she 
confess  it ;  he  would  never  understand. 

"  I  will  lock  the  door,"  she  said,  with  wild  eyes,  "  lock 
the  door,  and  let  no  one  enter  till  it  is  all  over — and 
perhaps  my  heart  will  break,"  she  added  pitifully. 

Then  she  stood  a  long  time,  still  with  hands  locked 
tight.  Suddenly  she  turned  and  her  robe  caught  the  jar 
of  lilies,  throwing  them  into  the  room. 

There  they  lay,  faded  by  the  heat,  amid  the  broken 
jar,  and  Graziosa  looked  with  unseeing  eyes,  and  picked 
them  up  mechanically. 

Opposite  hung  a  mirror,  and  as  she  raised  her  head 
she  saw  herself  reflected  there. 

The  lilies  dropped  from  her  hands  as  they  had  dropped 
before  in  the  street,  the  day  Tisio  took  her  bracelet. 

"  He  would  have  made  me  Duchess  of  Milan !  " 

She  drew  nearer  and  surveyed  her  pale  face  closely. 

"  Duchess  of  Milan !  and  he  had  all  Italy  to  choose 
from ! " 

The  thought  brought  a  flush  to  her  cheek. 

"  His  sister  is  very,  very  beautiful.  I  am  not  so  fair 
as  she,  nor  as  Delia  Scala's  wife,  and  yet  he  thought  me 
fit  to  share  his  throne " 

She  moved  toward  the  door  with  faltering  steps. 

"  I  must  not  think/'  she  moaned.  "  I  will  lock  the 
door — I  will  lock  the  door " 

But  another  thought  struck  her,  and  she  quivered  with 
her  agony. 

"  He  trusted  me — he  trusted  us — he  never  questioned 
our  faith !  " 

Then  her  heart  rose  in  rebellion  at  her  own  weakness. 
Let  Visconti  be  betrayed :  why  ?  What  did  she  know  of 
his  crimes? 


236  THE   VIPER   OF   MILAN 

She  could  hear  her  father  feasting  the  soldiers  below, 
and  thought  of  him  restless  and  impatient  for  nightfall. 
He  had  never  loved  Ambrogio. 

She  listened  and  heard  his  voice  in  pleasant  laughter 
with  a  triumphant  ring  in  it,  and  a  sort  of  rage  rose  in 
her  heart. 

"  Who  are  we  to  save  Milan  from  a  tyrant  ? "  she 
thought.  "  Ambrogio  is  more  to  me  than  all  the  Mil- 
anese." 

She  put  her  hand  on  the  door  handle. 

"  When  would  he  have  sent  for  me  ?  "  she  wondered 
dully.  "  He  smiled.  His  voice  was  gentle ;  Ambrogio's 
voice !  and  he  is  Ambrogio,  and — to-night,  to-night " 

Her  eyes  fell  on  the  long  blue  hooded  cloak  hanging  on 
the  wall  near.  She  took  it  down  and  paused  with  it  in 
her  hand,  looking  at  it  with  fixed  eyes. 

A  bird  flew  past  the  window,  sending  a  swift  shadow 
across  the  floor. 

Qraziosa  opened  the  door  slowly  and  stepped  out  onto 
the  stair.  It  was  almost  dark  there;  silently  she  closed 
the  door  behind  her  and  wrapped  the  cloak  about  her, 
drawing  the  hood  over  her  head  and  face. 

Leaning  over  the  stair  rail,  she  saw  that  the  door 
of  the  room  below  was  open,  her  father's  voice  was 
silent:  the  soldiers  had  gone  elsewhere.  Softly  she  crept 
down  into  that  pleasant  chamber  where  Visconti  had  sat 
so  often ;  the  sunlight  came  in  from  the  open  door  in  a 
great  band  across  the  dark  floor,  falling  on  her  white 
face  as  she  moved  through  it  and  out  into  the  yard.  She 
saw  there  was  no  soldier  by  the  door  into  the  street. 
She  opened  it,  she  could  see  her  father  and  the  guard 
chatting  over  wine-cups  by  the  sundial  in  the  garden, 
they  were  not  looking;  she  crossed  like  the  shadow  of 
the  bird  upon  the  floor.  Her  pet  doves  flew  away  at 
her  guilty  steps  as  if  they  did  not  know  her,  and  Gra- 


FOR    LOVE   OF   AMBROGIO  237 

ziosa  knew  herself  indeed  changed  from  the  one  who 
had  last  fed  them. 

The  bolt  of  the  door  would  at  first  not  move  for  her 
trembling  fingers,  but  she  did  not  stay  here ;  in  a  second 
more  she  stood  in  the  street,  a  closed  door  behind  her. 
Graziosa  would  never  see  it  open  more. 

The  houses  stood  clear  against  a  brilliant  sapphire  sky, 
and  above  them  moved  a  silver  banner,  the  banner  of  the 
Viper.  It  floated  from  the  Visconti  palace,  and  Graziosa, 
with  no  glance  back,  bent  her  steps  in  its  direction. 


CHAPTER   TWENTY-FOUR 

TREACHERY 

THE  day  that  was  to  place  Milan  in  the  enemy's  hands 
was  wearing  to  a  close;  the  sun  had  almost  set  in  a 
wide  sky,  a  flare  of  orange  and  purple,  against  which  the 
chestnuts  stood  in  rich  dark. 

Mastino  della  Scala  and  some  few  of  his  officers  were 
standing  in  the  little  wood  into  which  the  secret  passage 
opened. 

Behind  them  the  army  was  in  readiness. 

"  I  have  wrenched  success  from  the  hands  of  failure!  " 
cried  Mastino,  his  eyes  brilliant,  a  different  man.  He 
could  have  laughed  aloud  for  joy;  he  would  see  Isotta 
to-night,  he  would  keep  his  word ;  Visconti's  palace  was 
near  the  western  gate,  they  would  be  up  upon  him  before 
he  knew. 

"  There  is  no  possibility  of  failure,  Ligozzi ;  no  possi- 
bility of  treachery?"  he  said,  eagerly,  and  pressed  his 
friend's  hands  in  his. 

"  None,  lord ;  Vistarnini  is  to  be  trusted  to  the  death." 

"  Von  Schulembourg's  horse  returned  to  camp  this 
morning,"  said  Ligozzi.  "  I  know  not  where  the  Count 
is." 

"  When  I  am  in  Milan  I  will  find  him ;  he  shall  wed 
the  Lady  Valentine;  I  bear  him  no  bitterness.  Ah, 
Ligozzi,  the  world  will  be  a  different  place  to-morrow." 

And  Mastino  leaned  forward  eagerly,  waiting  for  the 
first  sign  of  the  return  of  Tomaso,  who  had  been  sent 
ahead  to  reconnoiter. 

The  sky  flared  and  blazed  through  the  trees  till  the 
238 


TREACHERY  239 

whole  world  seemed  on  fire;  the  red  clouds  were  re- 
flected in  Delia  Scala's  polished  armor  till  it  glowed  in 
one  bright  flame,  above  which  the  plumes  on  his  steel 
cap  floated  long  and  white. 

The  next  second  the  glory  faded  and  was  gone,  leaving 
the  world  cold  and  gray. 

The  sun  had  set. 

A  cold  breeze  stirred  the  leaves  against  the  pale  sky, 
but  to  Mastino,  leaning  against  the  tree  trunk,  waiting, 
no  foreboding  came.  It  was  success,  success — at  last! 

"  Tomaso  is  long,"  said  Ligozzi. 

"  The  way  is  long,"  smiled  Mastino.  "  But  not  so  long 
that  we  shall  not  enter  Milan  before  dawn !  " 

The  passage  opened  into  the  undergrowth  from  the 
wide  mouth  of  a  cave,  and  Delia  Scala,  in  his  eagerness, 
stepped  forward  into  the  shadow  of  its  blackness, 
listening  intently. 

No  sound  broke  the  stillness  save  the  little  murmur  of 
the  wind,  the  occasional  clank  of  the  bridles  of  the  idle 
horses. 

"  Hark !  "  cried  Mastino.  "  I  hear  him !  " 

He  turned  with  shining  eyes  to  Ligozzi. 

"  My  friend,  at  last  Heaven  has  heard!  " 

"  He  carries  no  torch,"  said  Ligozzi,  wonderingly,  for 
though  footsteps  ascended,  no  ray  of  light  fell  across 
the  dark. 

"  He  stayed  not  for  torch,"  cried  Delia  Scala.  "  Bring 
up  the  men,  Ligozzi !  " 

As  he  spoke,  a  figure  forced  itself  out  of  the  dark,  a 
wild  figure,  and  yet  Tomaso's ;  his  white  face  was  smeared 
with  blood  which  trickled  from  a  great  gash  on  his  fore- 
head, his  doublet  was  rent  and  torn,  and  he  reeled  as  if 
hurt  and  spent. 

*  O  Mother  of  God !  "  muttered  Mastino.  "  Mother  of 
God!" 


24o  THE   VIPER   OF   MILAN 

Tomaso  sank  at  his  feet  with  a  bitter  cry. 

"  All  is  over !  "  he  cried.  "  We  are  betrayed.  Oh,  would 
I  were  dead  before  I  had  to  tell  thee !  " 

"  Betrayed  ? "  echoed  Delia  Scala.  All  the  life  was 
struck  out  of  him,  he  steadied  himself  against  the  cavern 
wall  and  looked  at  the  boy  dully.  "  Betrayed  ?  " 

"  Betrayed  ?  By  whom  ?  "  cried  Ligozzi.  "  Ah,  thou 
art  hurt!" 

"  Nothing,  nothing.  I  am  in  time — Visconti — his  men 
guard  the  other  entrance — with  difficulty  I  escaped  to 
warn  thee,"  gasped  Tomaso. 

"  Who  betrayed  us  ?  "  demanded  his  father,  his  face 
dark  with  passion. 

"  The  girl,"  said  Tomaso,  bitterly;  "  the  girl  who  loved 
Visconti." 

"  And  Heaven  favors  her  love  and  not  mine ! "  The 
cry  was  wrung  from  Mastino.  "  We  are  betrayed  for  a 
girl's  love  of  Visconti.  And  my  wife  waits  for  me !  "  He 
laughed  wildly,  and  drew  a  faded  rose  from  the  folds  of 
his  sash,  flinging  it  on  to  the  ground. 

"  Look,  Ligozzi,  a  sign  from  Heaven — a  sign  I  thought 
had  been  fulfilled.  But  a  girl  prayed  for  Visconti, 
doubtless,  and  her  prayers  are  heard.  Isotta  must  perish, 
but  Visconti  is  saved!  To  mock,  Heaven  sends  me  a 
sign." 

He  ground  the  rose  to  powder  beneath  his  heel,  and 
Ligozzi  quailed  at  the  wild  anguish  of  his  face. 

"  I  should  have  known,"  he  cried.  "  I  should  have 
known.  I  called  on  God  and  this  is  His  answer.  I  will 
fight  Visconti  alone !  " 

He  turned  from  the  cavern  to  the  open,  and  stepped 
out  among  the  waiting  officers. 

"  Back  to  camp !  "  he  cried  wildly.  "  We  are  betrayed 
again,  by  a  woman  who  loves  Visconti!  The  Duke  of 
Milan  is  fortunate ;  who  would  do  the  like  for  me  ? " 


TREACHERY  241 

And  he  flung  himself  down  upon  the  bank,  and  sank  to 
the  ground. 

"  Leave  us,"  whispered  Ligozzi.  "  Leave  us,  all  is  over 
for  to-night,  the  Prince  and  I  will  follow." 

"  He  is  much  moved,"  returned  one  of  the  officers. 

"  All  his  hopes  were  on  it,"  said  Ligozzi  bitterly.  "  His 
wife,  his  God." 

In  disappointed  groups  the  men  moved  off,  to  spread 
the  evil  news. 

It  was  now  fully  dark,  but  not  so  dark  that  the  three 
left  by  the  cave  could  not  see  each  other  in  the  faint 
starlight. 

Mastino  called  to  Tomaso.  His  voice  was  hoarse  and 
strained. 

"  Tell  me  all,  boy ;  tell  how  it  happened." 

"  My  lord,"  faltered  Tomaso,  "  it  is  too  painful." 

"  Painful !  "  And  Delia  Scala  laughed  harshly.  "  I  am 
well  used  to  that ;  tell  me  how  it  happened." 

He  had  risen,  and  standing  in  the  shadow  of  the  trees, 
only  the  outline  of  his  great  figure  was  visible  to  Tomaso 
and  Ligozzi,  standing  a  few  paces  before  him. 

"  There  is  not  much  to  tell,"  said  the  boy  uneasily;  he 
was  sick  with  disappointment  and  the  pain  of  his  wound 
and  leaned  heavily  against  his  father. 

"  Agnolo  opened  the  door  to  me — as  had  been  ar- 
ranged ;  he  told  me,  with  a  wild  face,  his  daughter  was 
gone.  Visconti  had  carried  her  off,  he  vowed.  He  was 
half -crazed,  and  ah,  my  lord,  even  as  he  spoke,  the 
courtyard  filled  with  soldiers,  Visconti's  soldiers.  The 
girl  had  fled  to  the  palace,  and  told  the  Duke  all!  We 
were  betrayed! 

"  They  laughed  to  see  me  there ;  vowed  I  should  die 
a  merry  death,  trusted  you  would  follow  and  let  them 
give  you  a  warm  welcome.  Agnolo  they  mocked  with 
talk  of  pardon,  for  his  daughter's  sake,  his  daughter  the 


242  THE   VIPER   OF   MILAN 

Duchess  to  be,  whom  Visconti  had  proclaimed  to  all  his 
court,  if  he  would  tell  them  a  little  more  of  what  you 
meant  to  do !  But  Vistarnini  met  them  with  defiance. 

"  '  At  least  Visconti  shall  not  claim  us  both ! '  he  cried, 
and  then  they  laughed  and  killed  him.  That  was  the 
Duke's  word,  they  said,  not  pardon." 

Tomaso  paused. 

"  And  his  daughter  lives  to  be  Duchess  of  Milan !  " 
said  Delia  Scala.  "  It  is  the  will  of  Heaven!  "  He  laughed 
again,  harshly. 

"  I  escaped  while  they  argued  over  the  poor  painter's 
body,  and  they  dared  not  follow,  being  in  terror  of  an 
ambush.  If  it  had  not  been  for  saving  thee,  I  would  I 
might  have  died ! "  And  he  sank  his  head  upon  his 
father's  shoulder  with  heart-wrung  sobs. 

"  Take  him  to  the  camp,"  said  Mastino,  rising.  "  How 
can  I  comfort  him  or  thee,  wanting  it  so  much  myself?  " 
And  he  turned  away  through  the  trees. 

The  air  was  perfumed  and  soft,  it  fanned  the  heavy 
hair  back  from  his  face  and  rustled  the  flowers  around 
his  feet. 

He  walked  fast,  in  a  fury  of  hate.  It  came  to  him  to 
rush  into  Milan,  and  die  upon  the  soldiers'  spears,  if  he 
might  only  get  his  hands  upon  Visconti.  "  I  will  chal- 
lenge him  to  fight,  to  single  combat,"  he  thought  madly. 
Then  his  mood  changed,  he  stopped  and  felt  for  the 
locket  at  his  neck. 

"Isotta!  Oh,  my  dear,  my  dear!"  and  his  voice  was 
full  of  tears. 


CHAPTER  TWENTY-FIVE 

IN   CLOTH   OF  GOLD 

GRAZIOSA  VISTARNINI,  the  savior  of  Milan,  and 
the  Duke's  betrothed,  was  lodged  with  regal  state  in  the 
magnificent  new  tower  that  stood  in  the  grounds  of  the 
Visconti  palace.  Visconti  could  be  liberal  to  a  fault  where 
it  suited  his  vanity  or  his  purpose,  and  Graziosa's  new 
residence  was  decorated  with  a  lavishness  that  made  the 
French  stare. 

For  not  only  had  she  saved  Milan,  but  she  had  done  it 
solely  for  love  of  him,  and  it  gratified  Visconti's  pride 
as  much  as  it  pleased  his  ambition.  Save  for  this  girl 
he  had  been  now  even  as  had  been  Delia  Scala,  and  Milan 
humbled  as  Verona.  She  had  been  the  means  of  his  once 
more  outwitting  a  foe;  she  had  assured  his  safety  and 
the  safety  of  his  city;  and  Visconti's  proud  gratitude 
showed  in  the  state  and  splendor  with  which  he  sur- 
rounded his  chosen  wife. 

This  glorious  summer  morning  she  was  seated  on  the 
side  terrace  that  surrounded  the  tower,  a  terrace  of  black 
marble  and  alabaster,  the  delicate  balustrade  smothered 
in  lemon  and  myrtle  trees  and  clusters  of  white  roses. 

Graziosa  was  in  the  midst  of  a  brilliant  company ;  the 
best-born  dames  in  Italy  were  among  her  women,  and 
more  knights  and  pages  composed  her  train  than  had 
ever  waited  on  Visconti's  sister. 

Beneath  them  the  garden,  reached  by  a  shallow  flight 
of  steps,  spread  in  perfect  loveliness  to  the  palace,  above 
whose  pink  brick  walls  and  rugged  gray  fortifications 
floated  the  banner  of  the  Viper. 

243 


244  THE   VIPER   OF   MILAN 

The  air  was  golden  with  the  brightness  of  the  sun, 
there  was  not  a  cloud  in  the  purple  sky,  and  Graziosa's 
heart  was  singing  in  pure  happiness. 

She  rose  from  her  chair  impulsively,  and  walked  to  the 
edge  of  the  terrace,  leaning  over  the  balustrade,  the 
ladies  behind  her. 

"  Tis  sad  to  think  there  should  be  fighting  on  such  a 
day  as  this/'  said  one,  handing  Graziosa  her  fan.  "  God 
grant  it  may  soon  be  peace !  " 

"  God  grant  it !  "  repeated  the  painter's  daughter  fer- 
vently. 

"  They  say  the  Veronese  cannot  hold  out  much  longer," 
said  another.  "  This  very  morn  there  was  news.  Bassano 
has  fallen " 

Graziosa  picked  a  cluster  of  roses  and  buried  her  face 
in  them. 

"  How  beautiful  they  are !  "  she  said.  "  See,  they  have 
little  hearts  all  gold,  never  showing  till  they  die ;  a  pretty 
fancy,  is  it  not?"  And  she  stroked  them  tenderly. 

"  Bassano  has  fallen  ?  "  she  repeated  idly. 

"  Yes,  and  'tis  said  they  cannot  fail  in  getting  Reggio." 

"  Then  my  lord's  arms  are  everywhere  victorious !  " 
cried  Graziosa  with  sparkling  eyes. 

"  As  ever,  lady,"  was  the  answer. 

"  And  we  can  hope  for  peace,"  continued  Graziosa 
softly. 

"  And  when  peace  is  proclaimed  you  will  be  Duchess 
— almost  Queen — of  Lombardy,  Gian  Visconti's  wife!" 

There  was  a  note  of  envy  in  the  speaker's  voice  at  such 
a  splendid  destiny,  but  Graziosa  did  not  notice  it.  She 
even  shuddered  faintly  at  Visconti's  name;  it  had  been 
associated  with  awe  and  terror  too  long  for  her  to  be 
able  to  easily  shake  the  fear  away. 

"  Meanwhile,  the  sun  is  shining  hot,  lady,"  said  a 
third  attendant.  "  Will  you  not  come  into  the  shelter  ?  " 


IN    CLOTH    OF   GOLD  245 

Graziosa  moved  away;  the  white  roses  at  her  bosom 
were  not  more  pure  than  her  face.  Two  pages  lifted  her 
rich  train,  and  as  she  crossed  the  terrace  a  third  came 
and  spoke  to  her  on  bended  knee. 

"  My  Lord  Giannotto  waits  your  pleasure,  lady." 

"  Tell  him  I  am  here,"  and  the  color  rose  in  Graziosa's 
face  at  so  much  honor. 

She  turned  to  the  steps  where  Giannotto  waited,  cap 
in  hand,  and  advanced  toward  him. 

"  Lady,"  said  the  secretary,  bowing  low,  "  my  lord  sent 
me  to  say  he  will  wait  on  you  himself;  and  meanwhile 
if  you  have  any  commands " 

Graziosa  interrupted  him. 

"  Indeed,  my  lord  is  too  good;  what  commands  should 
I  have? — tell  him  so,  with  my  deepest  thanks,  sir." 

Giannotto  looked  at  her  curiously,  with  a  mixture  of 
pity  and  wonder. 

"  He  comes  himself,  lady,  to  hear  your  thanks,  and 
learn  your  will." 

And  he  stepped  aside,  joining  the  group  that  had  been 
gathered  about  Graziosa. 

Gian  Visconti  was  coming  through  the  garden,  a  grave- 
looking  man  by  his  side,  a  white  hound  at  his  heels,  and 
two  boys  following,  one  bearing  a  wooden  case,  the 
other  carrying  a  roll  of  drawings. 

Visconti  was  talking  to  his  companion ;  he  was  in  the 
best  of  humors,  at  the  height  of  triumph  and  success,  his 
enemies  well  under  his  heel,  his  ambitions  on  the  point  of 
being  gratified. 

Graziosa  came  to  the  head  of  the  steps,  and  Visconti 
took  his  gold  cap  off  and  waved  it,  coming  up  them 
gayly. 

She  stood  silent  in  the  glory  of  the  sunshine  and  held 
out  her  hands,  and  he  kissed  them,  and  looked  at  her  and 
laughed  pleasantly. 


246  THE   VIPER   OF   MILAN 

"  Now  art  thou  happy,  donna  mia?  "  he  said.  "  Hast 
thou  all  that  thou  couldst  wish  ?  " 

"  More  than  I  ever  dreamed  of,  my  lord,"  she  an- 
swered softly.  "  I  did  not  know  the  world  could  be  so 
beautiful — or  so  happy." 

"  'Tis  but  a  small  return,  Graziosa,  my  beloved,  for 
what  thou  hast  done  for  me,"  returned  Visconti.  "  And 
I  will  make  it  more — this  is  but  an  earnest  of  the  future. 
Visconti's  wife  shall  live  in  such  splendor  that  men  shall 
not  see  her  for  its  dazzle." 

"  What  am  I,  that  thou  shouldst  give  me  so  much 
joy ! "  cried  Graziosa,  with  swimming  eyes. 

Visconti  smiled. 

"  Thou  art  thyself — it  is  enough !  " 

He  turned  to  his  companion,  who  stood  respectfully 
at  some  little  distance. 

"  Come  hither,  Messer  Gambera.  Here  is  a  lady  who 
shall  often  pray  within  your  church — my  betrothed,  who 
saved  us  Milan." 

Messer  Gambera  bowed  low,  and  kissed  the  hem  of  her 
gown. 

Visconti  watched  his  homage  with  pleased  pride,  and 
turned  again  to  Graziosa. 

"  Now  I  have  somewhat  to  show  thee.  This  is  the 
architect  of  my  new  church,  which  shall  be  the  wonder 
of  Italy.  Follow  me,  messer."  And  he  led  the  way  into 
the  entrance-hall. 

It  was  low  and  wide,  the  walls  covered  with  frescoes, 
the  floor  red  sandstone,  the  windows  opening  on  to  the 
terrace. 

In  the  middle  stood  a  gilt  stucco  table,  and  to  this 
Visconti  drew  a  chair  and  bade  Graziosa  seat  herself. 

"  Here  is  what  I  will  make  of  Milan,  sweet,  when  the 
war  is  ended !  "  he  said,  as  the  architect  unrolled  and 
arranged  his  drawings. 


IN   CLOTH   OF   GOLD  247 

"  And  will  that  be  soon  ?  "  she  asked,  looking  up  at 
him. 

"  Aye,  I  hope  so,"  laughed  the  Duke.  "  Mastino  della 
Scala  grows  weaker  day  by  day — I  have  Bassano,  and 
shall  have  Reggio.  He  has  lost  his  wits  as  well  as  his 
fortresses,  for  he  bids  me  to  a  single  combat:  all  to 
stand  or  fall  by  our  own  swords.  He  has  his   answer, 

and  I  have  his  wife.  Now,  look  at  these,  Graziosa " 

and  he  took  the  drawings  from  the  architect  and  spread 
them  on  the  table. 

"  My  new  church,"  he  said.  "  The  plans,  my  well- 
beloved." 

And  he  looked  eagerly  at  Graziosa. 

"  Indeed,  my  lord,  I  do  not  understand  them — it  is 
no  church,  surely  ?  "  And  she  raised  a  sweet,  bewildered 
face. 

"  Tis  the  plan  of  one.  Messer  Gambera  will  explain 
it,"  and  he  motioned  eagerly  to  the  architect.  "  Here, 
messer,  this  is  the  porch  ? "  And  he  laid  his  finger  on 
the  drawing,  absorbed  in  contemplation. 

"  Yes,  my  lord." 

"  Set  on  three  steps  ?  " 

"  Tis  so,  my  lord." 

"  I  do  not  care  for  that,  messer,  and  I  will  have 
more  carving — would  you  not,  Graziosa  ?  " 

"You  must  not  ask  me;  indeed  I  do  not  know," 
she  smiled. 

Visconti's  face  for  an  instant  darkened.  "  You  must 
learn,"  he  said.  "  My  duchess  must  know  architecture. 
Take  away  the  plans,  messer ;  I  will  look  at  them  alone." 

"  Perchance  the  lady  might  care  for  the  model,  my 
lord?  "  returned  the  architect.  He  spoke  bad  Italian,  and 
was  shaking  with  nervousness. 

"  Bring  the  model,"  replied  Visconti,  and  the  page 
placed  the  box  upon  the  table. 


248  THE   VIPER   OF   MILAN 

Messer  Gambera  touched  a  spring  and  it  flew  apart, 
showing  an  exquisite  little  model  of  white  marble,  some 
twelve  inches  high. 

"  Oh !  it  is  beautiful ! "  said  Graziosa,  and  Visconti 
looked  at  her  with  sparkling  eyes. 

"  You  think  so  ?  Yes,  it  will  be  beautiful — the  church 
of  all  Lombardy." 

"It  will  be  like  this,  of  marble?"  she  asked,  breath- 
less. 

"  Every  inch — from  the  porch  to  the  pinnacles,  and 
the  floor  shall  be  precious  mosaic,  and  the  altars  crystal 
and  serpentine,  jasper  and  amethyst;  men  shall  spend 
their  lives  in  carving  one  pillar,  and  the  price  of  cities 
shall  pay  for  the  gold  that  shall  be  lavished  on  it. 
Not  in  our  life  will  this  be  done,  nor  in  the  lives  of 
those  that  reign  after  us — or  even  they  that  follow,  but 
finished  it  shall  be,  and  one  of  the  wonders  of  the  world 
— and  I  shall  be  remembered  as  he  who  planned  it — to 
the  glory  of  God  and  the  house  of  Visconti ! " 

He  turned  with  shining  eyes  to  the  architect,  who 
gazed  on  him  with  admiration,  with  a  face  that  re- 
flected the  speaker's  own  fervor. 

"  Yes,  mine  will  be  the  glory,  though  I  shall  never 
see  the  pinnacles  kiss  the  sky,  or  hear  the  mass  beneath 
that  marble  roof — mine  will  be  the  glory — even  though 
I  am  not  buried  there,  it  will  be  my  monument  to  all 
eternity !  " 

Graziosa  gazed  at  him  in  silence:  she  could  not  un- 
derstand. Gian  glanced  down  at  her  with  a  smile. 

"  Would  it  not  be  a  worthy  tomb,  even  for  a  king, 
Graziosa  ?  " 

"  For  an  emperor — but  we  will  not  talk  of  tombs, 
my  lord,"  she  answered,  "  but  of  pleasant  things,  and — 
and — of  something  that  I  have  to  ask  you." 

"What?"  smiled  Visconti. 


IN   CLOTH   OF   GOLD  249 

The  pages  had  gathered  up  the  drawings,  and  the 
architect  had  removed  his  precious  model  and  with- 
drawn. 

They  were  alone,  and  Graziosa  rose  and  looked  at 
Visconti  a  little  timidly. 

"  I — I  mean — there  will  be  peace  soon — you  think,  my 
lord?" 

"  I  think  so — but  peace  or  war,  it  shall  not  touch  thee, 
Graziosa." 

"  Indeed,  I  do  not  fear  it— but " 

She  hesitated  a  moment,  and  glanced  anxiously  at 
Visconti's  smiling  face. 

"  Prince  Mastino's  wife — my  lord " 

"  What  of  her  ?  "  asked  Gian,  lightly.  "  How  does  she 
trouble  thee?" 

"  I  fear  she  is  in  sad  woe,"  said  Graziosa,  encouraged 
by  his  tone.  "  She  will  return  to  Delia  Scala  when  the 
war  is  ended  ?  " 

Visconti  laughed. 

"  The  war  will  not  be  ended  till  she  does,  methinks ; 
yet  be  comforted,  Graziosa ;  before  our  wedding  day  she 
shall  be  in  Delia  Scala's  camp— and  the  war  over :  now 
think  of  it  no  more." 

"  Indeed  I  am  satisfied ;  and  my  father,  my  lord  ?  " 

"  Now,  can  I  help  it  an  he  will  not  come  to  the 
palace?  My  word  on  it,  he  is  safe;  think  no  more  of 
that,  Graziosa.  My  word  on  it,  he  is  safe!  Now  are 
you  content  ?  " 

"  My  dear,  dear  lord,  I  am  content :  I  will  trouble 
you  no  more  with  questions.  I  am  content  to  leave  my 
father's  safety  in  your  hands — content." 

She  laid  her  arms  about  his  neck,  and  Visconti  kissed 
the  roses  on  the  breast  that  crushed  them  against  his 
golden  doublet,  and  then  her  upturned  face. 

Through  the  open  window  came  the  distant  sound  of 


250  THE   VIPER   OF   MILAN 

singing ;  some  one  singing  in  French,  and  then  a  woman's 
laugh.  Graziosa  drew  herself  away,  and  Visconti's  face 
darkened. 

"  Please  heaven,  she  will  not  annoy  me  long,"  he  mut- 
tered. 

He  took  Graziosa's  hand  in  silence  and  stepped  out 
on  to  the  terrace. 

Seated  on  the  steps  was  d'Orleans,  playing  with  the  red 
ribbons  of  his  lute,  and  standing  among  the  cluster  of 
ladies  at  the  foot  of  them  was  Valentine  Visconti. 

She  looked  very  brilliant  and  beautiful,  and  angry  and 
scornful;  her  laughter  was  bitter,  and  the  veiled  bright- 
ness of  her  eyes  not  pleasant. 

The  shade  of  Visconti's  face  deepened  as  he  looked  at 
her:  compared  to  his  sister,  Graziosa  was  a  candle  beside 
the  sun;  the  contrast  did  not  please  Gian. 

D'Orleans  rose  and  bowed  low  to  the  lady,  yet  in  a 
way  that  was  not  respectful. 

"  So  there  has  been  a  challenge  from  the  enemy,"  he 
lisped.  "  Now  I  shall  love  to  see  a  single  meeting  of 
brave  swords  again." 

"  Who  said  so? "  asked  Visconti.  He  came  slowly 
down  the  steps;  his  manner  had  quite  changed,  and  his 
eyes  were  on  his  sister. 

"  The  Lady  Valentine,"  said  the  Frenchman. 
"  She " 

"  The  Lady  Valentine,"  interrupted  the  Duke  sternly, 
"  had  best  remember — what  I  have  often  remembered  to 
her  advantage — that  she  is  a  woman,  and  these  affairs  are 
none  of  hers." 

And  he  gave  her  a  glance  that  made  her  wince,  as 
always  did  that  glance,  for  all  her  boldness. 

Graziosa,  her  hand  held  lightly  by  the  Duke,  was  fol- 
lowing him  down  the  steps,  her  pages  behind,  and  Vis- 
conti kept  his  eyes  upon  his  sister. 


IN    CLOTH   OF   GOLD  251 

There  was  a  meaning  pause,  and  d'Orleans  grew  rest- 
less in  the  silence  and  moved  away. 

Valentine  sent  after  him  a  look  of  bitter  scorn,  then 
walked  slowly  up  to  Graziosa  and  saluted  her  humbly, 
though  her  eyes  were  burning  brightly. 

Visconti  watched  them  keenly,  and  noticed  with  dis- 
pleasure how  crushed  and  silent  Graziosa  showed  before 
his  brilliant  sister:  she  shrank  into  herself,  as  if  she  di- 
vined the  scorn  Valentine  concealed,  and  could  scarce 
stammer  a  few  words  of  greeting  in  reply. 

"  I  must  back  to  the  palace,  Graziosa,"  said  Visconti, 
as  they  reached  the  garden,  and  his  eyes  roved  over  the 
crowd  of  attendants  for  Giannotto's  figure.  "  Remember 
these  are  all  at  thy  commands — and,  for  the  present,  then 
farewell." 

To  Valentine  he  said  nothing,  but  turned  away  to- 
ward the  palace  with  the  secretary. 

Graziosa  looked  after  him,  a  little  pained;  she  had  no- 
ticed he  was  always  different  when  his  sister  was  there. 
Valentine  had  noticed  it  too,  and  guessed  the  cause,  and 
the  knowledge  gave  a  triumph  to  her  beauty  that  made 
it  dazzling  indeed. 

"  I  fear  I  interrupted  your  discourse,"  she  said  with 
another  curtsey. 

"  Indeed  no,  lady,"  replied  Graziosa,  timidly.  "  Will 
you  not  come  within  with  me  from  the  sun?  " 

"  Nay,  that  were  too  much  of  an  honor,"  said  Valen- 
tine. "  Are  you  not  my  brother's  promised  wife — and  the 
savior  of  Milan?" 

"  I  pray  you,  do  not  speak  of  it — I — I "  answered 

Graziosa  hurriedly. 

Valentine  lifted  her  brows  and  opened  her  gray  eyes 
wide. 

"  Do  not  speak  of  it?  Why,  'tis  a  deed  to  be  proud  of 
— even  when  so  well  rewarded,  lady." 


252  THE   VIPER   OF   MILAN 

Graziosa  flushed  under  the  mock  in  her  tone,  and 
turned  to  one  of  her  ladies. 

"  We  will  go  in — alone — since  the  Princess  will  not 
come,"  she  said. 

"  Come  and  walk  in  the  garden,  madama,"  said  Valen- 
tine. "  At  least  it  seems  like  liberty — there  will  be  little 
enough  of  that  when  you  are  Duchess  of  Milan." 

Graziosa,  looking  at  her  with  frightened  eyes,  joined 
her  meekly,  having  not  the  spirit  to  refuse. 

"  Now,  bid  your  ladies  back  a  pace — at  least  Gian  will 
allow  us  that,"  and  Valentine  motioned  them  away. 

"  What  do  you  mean?  "  faltered  Graziosa,  with  a  pang 
of  something  like  envy,  as  she  noticed  the  grace  and 
dignity  of  Valentine's  bearing,  and  the  superb  carriage 
of  her  queenly  head. 

Valentine  shrugged  her  white  shoulders  and  laughed 
bitterly. 

"  Many  things — among  them  this — get  yourself  a  bet- 
ter tirewoman  and  you  will  keep  Visconti  longer — learn 
a  little  spirit  and  you  will  keep  him  longer  still." 

Graziosa  glanced  down  at  her  dress,  the  richer  of  the 
two,  but  worn  with  no  such  grace. 

"  Tis  no  question  of  my  dress,  lady,"  she  answered, 
with  some  dignity — "  nor  of  beauty — but  of  love  alone." 

Valentine  looked  at  her  curiously,  scornfully.  They 
were  passing  between  rich  bushes  of  roses  and  lilies,  the 
air  was  heavy  with  scent,  and  from  the  ladies  following 
came  gentle  laughter. 

"  You  think  he  loves  you?  "  asked  Valentine. 

"  I  know  it,"  answered  Graziosa,  proudly. 

Valentine  smiled  and  looked  away.  The  smile  and 
glance  stung  Visconti's  betrothed  like  a  whip-stroke. 

"What  do  you  mean?"  she  cried.  "You  insult  me — 
you  insult  him !  " 

"  Do  you  know  Gian  Visconti  so  very  well  ?  "  asked  his 


IN    CLOTH   OF   GOLD  253 

sister.  "  Have  you  seen  him  torturing  his  prisoners  with 
the  slow  torture  of  the  mind — worse  than  any  rack? 
Have  you  seen  him  lying  and  betraying,  stealing  and 
murdering?  " 

Graziosa  looked  at  her  wildly;  she  looked  strangely 
like  her  brother  could  look,  her  voice  was  very  like  his. 

11  You  know  how  his  father  died?  How  his  mother's 
heart  was  broken?" 

"  I  know  you  never  raised  a  hand  to  save  them — I 
know  I  love  him !  "  cried  Graziosa. 

"  Doubtless,"  smiled  Valentine  with  scorn.  "  But  does 
he  love  you?  Why,  he  is  so  stained  with  crime  I  do  not 
care  to  touch  his  hand.  Would  such  a  man  love — you?" 

"  Some  tales  I  have  heard,  but  now  I  know  them  false," 
said  Graziosa,  white  and  trembling.  "  And  I  will  hear  no 
more." 

"She  thinks  he  loves  her!"  murmured  Valentine. 
"  She  thinks  Gian  Visconti  loves  her!  " 

Graziosa  was  as  near  hate  as  was  possible  for  her;  her 
heart  was  too  full  for  a  reply,  she  called  to  her  ladies  and 
turned  away.  But  Valentine  followed,  and  laid  her  hand 
on  her  shoulder  with  what  seemed  a  loving  gesture. 

"  Tell  Gian  what  I  have  said,"  she  whispered.  "  It  will 
be  an  office  to  suit  you,  traitress !  "  and  with  a  smile  she 
turned  away. 

Graziosa  walked  slowly  toward  her  tower;  somehow 
the  garden  had  grown  dim,  the  sky  was  not  so  bright, 
the  sun  so  brilliant;  she  was  looking  at  them  through  a 
veil  of  tears,  unshed  and  bitter. 

"  The  Lady  Valentine  is  not  a  gay  companion  to-day," 
remarked  one  of  her  attendants,  looking  at  her. 

u  No,"  said  Graziosa  dully.  Valentine's  words  were 
rankling  in  her  heart;  all  the  past  came  before  her,  all 
the  tales  she  had  heard  of  Visconti,  all  her  father's  ten- 
derness, the  old,  happy  time.  What  if  it  had  all  been  a 


254  THE    VIPER    OF    MILAN 

mistake  ?  What  if  Visconti  still  played  with  her  and  he 
was  what  Valentine  had  said?  The  idea  was  too  awful, 
she  crushed  it  back,  she  would  not  believe. 

She  thought  of  her  father  with  a  sudden  yearning;  she 
had  always  turned  to  him  in  her  little  troubles,  she  felt 
uneasy  about  him  with  a  sudden  wave  of  homesickness. 
"  Can  I  forget  ?  "  she  cried  in  her  heart.  "  Can  I  live 
this  life  and  forget?" 

But  the  next  moment  she  calmed  herself.  She  thought 
of  Visconti  leaning  over  his  cathedral,  of  his  hand  in  hers, 
of  his  earnest  voice — and  she  had  his  word  for  her 
father's  safety. 

Smiling  to  herself,  she  mounted  the  steps  to  her  gor- 
geous dwelling,  made  splendid  by  Visconti's  love. 

"My  father!  We  shall  be  happy  together  again  yet!" 
And  she  laughed  and  kissed  the  roses  Gian  had  kissed, 
and  the  sun  seemed  bright  again. 

But  Agnolo  Vistarnini  lay  in  the  little  chapel  of  Santa 
Maria  Nuova,  near  to  the  western  gate,  with  tapers  burn- 
ing at  his  head  and  feet,  and  five  sword-thrusts  through 
his  heart. 


CHAPTER   TWENTY-SIX 

IN   VISCONTl'S    HANDS 

VALENTINE  VISCONTI  was  praying  in  the  Church 
of  San'  Apollinare.  It  stood  some  way  from  the  Visconti 
palace,  a  magnificent  building,  rich  with  the  Duke's  gifts. 

That  morning  thanksgiving  rose  from  every  church  in 
Milan;  from  the  palace  to  the  hut,  all  showed  some  sign 
of  rejoicing.  The  Duke  had  ordered  public  processions 
and  thanksgiving,  and  none  dared  disobey. 

His  Holiness  Pope  Boniface  had  deserted  the  falling 
cause  of  Verona;  there  was  nothing  to  be  feared  and  lit- 
tle to  be  gained  from  Mastino  della  Scala,  the  Duke  of 
Milan  had  offered  his  aid  against  the  rebellious  Floren- 
tines, and  many  bribes  besides,  and  to-day  had  seen  the 
new  league  between  the  powerful  tyrant  of  Lombardy 
and  His  Holiness  publicly  ratified. 

From  Rome  Visconti  had  nothing  more  to  fear,  Mas- 
tino nothing  more  to  hope. 

The  country  around  Padua  was  Visconti's  too;  Co- 
logna,  which  he  had  always  held,  the  great  seaport  of 
Chioggia,  Mestre  and  Lovigo,  betrayed  by  Carrara. 

Bassano  had  fallen,  and  now  Reggio;  there  was  cause 
for  thanksgiving  in  Milan. 

As  a  last  triumph,  Valentine  had  been  sent  to  offer  up 
prayers  and  gifts  for  her  brother's  success.  She  was 
guarded  on  her  errand,  practically  a  prisoner.  Soldiers 
stood  at  every  door  of  the  church,  and  a  mounted  escort 
waited  without  to  conduct  her  back.  She  was  on  her 
knees  before  the  blazing  altar,  her  head  low  over  her 

255 


256  THE   VIPER   OF   MILAN 

missal,  but  she  was  not  offering  thanks  to  heaven  for 
Gian's  victories. 

She  thought  of  Graziosa  with  angry  hate.  But  for  that 
girl,  Delia  Scala  had  been  in  Milan,  and  Count  Conrad 
with  him — and  in  reward  for  her  treachery  Graziosa  was 
to  queen  it  over  her!  Visconti  delighted  to  flaunt  her 
with  her  at  every  turn. 

That  morning  Visconti  had  told  her  the  war  was  draw- 
ing to  a  close — said  it  with  much  meaning,  and  promised 
her,  smiling,  Count  Conrad's  head  as  a  wedding  gift.  He 
had  been  closeted  long  with  Giannotto;  strangely  elated 
he  had  seemed,  and  Valentine  shudderingly  wondered 
what  was  in  the  air. 

That  there  was  something  she  knew  full  well;  Visconti 
was  hatching  some  stroke  that  would  complete  Delia 
Scala's  ruin.  For  some  days  she  had  seen  his  purpose  in 
his  face,  and  to-day  the  alliance  with  the  Pope  con- 
firmed it. 

She  did  not  greatly  care,  she  was  too  crushed  with  her 
own  failures  to  care  much  for  the  failure  of  another. 
She  felt  sorry  for  Isotta  d'Este,  and  bitter  toward  Count 
Conrad. 

"  But  were  I  either  of  them,  Prince  Mastino  or  Count 
Conrad,"  she  thought  in  hot  anger,  "  I  would  not  live  to 
grace  Visconti's  triumph." 

The  sound  of  bells  penetrated  even  into  the  hushed 
interior  of  the  church.  As  the  service  ended  and  Val- 
entine rose  to  her  feet,  she  heard  them  burst  into 
wild  music;  the  dim,  incensed  air  seemed  troubled 
by  their  triumphant  throb,  the  gold  tapestry  to  shake 
with  it. 

"  Is  it  another  victory? "  murmured  Valentine.  The 
church  had  emptied,  she  was  alone  in  it  save  for  two 
ladies  kneeling  motionless. 

The  monks  swept  out,  with  a  swinging  of  incense  and 


IN   VISCONTFS   HANDS  257 

a  low  chanting.  One  only  remained,  putting  out  candles 
about  the  altar. 

Valentine  closed  her  missal  and  turned  to  leave.  The 
sun  was  streaming  through  the  gold  and  opal  window 
in  a  dazzling  shaft  of  light,  it  fell  over  her  face  and  blinded 
her  for  a  second.  The  next,  she  looked  round  to  see 
the  solitary  monk  behind  her.  His  head  was  hidden  in 
his  cowl,  his  arms  folded,  he  passed  her  without  look- 
ing up. 

u  Count  Conrad  is  in  Milan,"  he  said,  under  his  breath, 
and  silently  and  swiftly  he  was  gone. 

Valentine,  hardly  believing  she  had  heard  aright,  gazed 
after  him  wildly,  then  collecting  herself,  walked  down  the 
aisle,  her  brain  on  fire. 

Her  ladies  rose,  in  waiting,  and  under  no  excuse  could 
she  prolong  her  stay. 

"  Count  Conrad  is  in  Milan!  " 

Did  that  mean  that  he  would  rescue  her  yet — was  it 
Conrad  himself  who  spoke? 

The  thought  was  grateful  to  her  sore,  angry  heart. 
She  had  not  much  confidence  in  Count  Conrad's  skill  nor 
his  chances  of  success — still,  he  was  in  Milan,  he  cared 
enough  to  have  risked  that,  and  she  could  wait. 

After  the  dim  church  the  sun  was  blinding,  the  crash 
of  the  bells  deafening.  Valentine  mounted  her  horse  with 
a  throbbing  heart ;  that  whisper  in  the  church  had  given 
her  new  life. 

The  soldiers  formed  up  either  side,  behind  and  before ; 
it  would  not  have  been  possible  for  her  to  drop  even 
her  glove  unnoticed.  She  was  riding  the  streets  of  Milan 
as  her  brother's  trophy,  as  his  prisoner;  every  one  of 
those  who  bowed  so  humbly  to  her  as  she  passed,  every 
peasant  her  guards  thrust  back  from  her  path,  was  freer 
than  she. 

San'  Apollinare  was  far  from  the  palace,  and  for  that 


258  THE   VIPER   OF   MILAN 

reason  Visconti  had  chosen  it.  All  Milan  should  see  her 
ride  to  offer  thanksgiving  for  his  victories. 

"  Surely  there  is  more  good  news,"  said  Costanza,  as 
they  crossed  the  bridge  that  spanned  the  canal;  "  the  air 
is  full  of  rejoicing,  and  I  have  seen  many  messengers 
spur  past." 

Valentine  set  her  teeth,  and  looked  between  the  spears 
of  her  escort  at  the  bright  blue  water  beneath  them.  All 
the  craft  that  covered  its  surface  were  gay  with  flags,  its 
depth  reflected  buildings  hung  with  the  banners  of  the 
Viper. 

"  It  fills  the  very  air  we  breathe,"  shuddered  Valen- 
tine, "  the  shadow  of  the  Viper." 

Costanza  glanced  at  her. 

"  I  must  confess,"  she  replied,  "  I  should  be  proud  an 
it  were  my  bearing.  To  be  a  Visconti  on  such  a  day  as 
this  would  please  me  well;  and  though  I  am  your  friend, 
madama,  I  must  say  it." 

"  As  do  all  the  others,"  said  Valentine,  bitterly.  "  You 
are  blinded  by  splendor  and  power — you  see  no  deeper 
than  the  skin!  " 

"Maybe,"  said  the  other  lightly.  "Yet  am  I  glad  the 
Duke  hath  triumphed,  and  not  Mastino  della  Scala,  who 
is  as  sullen  as  a  peasant,  and  a  foe  to  all  display." 

"And  his  wife?"  asked  Valentine  in  a  low  tone. 
"  Have  you  no  thought  for  her?  " 

Costanza  shrugged  her  shoulders. 

"  Methinks  I  have  done  much  to  show  I  have!  But  she 
is  a  prisoner  of  war,  and  must  take  her  chances  like  an- 
other. Were  it  the  Visconti's  wife  in  such  a  case — she 
would  not  be  a  prisoner  long!  Let  Mastino  della  Scala 
tear  her  from  his  foe  himself — let  him  do  as  Visconti  did 
when  the  Lady  Graziosa  was  in  danger." 

"  Hold  thy  tongue,"  returned  Valentine  angrily.  "  You 
talk  as  a  child — you  know  not  what  you  say." 


IN   VISCONTTS   HANDS  259 

"  I  only  know  this/'  retorted  the  other,  "  I  would  / 
were  the  Lady  Graziosa,"  and  she  looked  defiantly  at 
Visconti's  angry  sister. 

"  For  shame,  Costanza,"  said  Valentine.  "  Remember 
yourself." 

They  rode  in  silence  till,  at  the  turn  of  the  street,  an- 
other splendid  cavalcade  crossed  theirs.  It  was  the  Lady 
Graziosa  and  her  suite.  Tisio  Visconti  and  d'Orleans  were 
in  attendance;  she  rode  a  white  palfrey. 

The  sun  lay  tenderly  in  her  soft  hair;  her  green  dress 
was  covered  with  pearls,  and  round  her  throat  she  wore 
the  emeralds  Visconti  had  promised  his  sister,  the  first 
jewels  in  Italy,  robbed  from  Delia  Scala. 

Valentine  noticed  them,  she  noticed  Graziosa's  happy 
face,  the  joy  she  took  in  the  homage  paid  her,  in  Vis- 
conti's success  that  so  galled  her,  Visconti's  sister,  and 
a  sudden  purpose  rose  in  her  eyes. 

She  smiled  sweetly  on  Graziosa,  and  rode  up  to  d'Or- 
leans; the  Frenchman  remarked  with  pleasure  how  she 
outshone  the  Duke's  betrothed.  The  deep  blue  of  her 
velvet  robe  made  her  skin  appear  of  dazzling  fairness, 
her  hair  was  like  burnished  gold,  her  mouth  like  a  red 
flower,  but  her  eyes,  for  all  her  smile,  as  dangerous  as 
Gian  Maria's  could  be,  as  mad,  almost  as  wicked. 

"  We  are  well  met,  my  lord,"  she  said,  smiling.  "  Have 
there  been  even  greater  victories  ?  " 

"  I  know  not,  lady;  they  say  something  of  Lucca  hav- 
ing fallen,"  returned  d'Orleans.  "  I  have  been  escorting 
the  Lady  Graziosa  to  view  the  new  church — by  the 
Duke's  orders  ";  he  added  in  a  lower  tone,  "  could  I  have 
chosen  my  companion,  it  had  not  been  she." 

Valentine  listened  with  downcast  eyes,  playing  with  the 
rubies  at  her  wrist.  Her  escort  was  grouped  about  her, 
and  Costanza  glanced  aside  at  her  curling  lips  with  some 
mistrust. 


26o  THE   VIPER   OF   MILAN 

"  The  Lady  Graziosa  is  happier  and  fair  to-day,"  she 
whispered  to  her  companion,  and  Valentine  overheard 
and  smiled  the  more. 

"  And  my  brother,  the  Duke?  "  she  asked. 

"  I  have  not  seen  the  Duke  all  day,"  replied  the  French- 
man. "  There  is  talk  of  an  embassy  to  the  enemy — con- 
fusion and  crowds " 

"  You  have  been  riding  Milan  to  see  the  rejoicings?  " 
interrupted  Valentine,  and  she  raised  her  eyes  to  Grazi- 
osa once — the  glance  was  not  pleasant — then  she  fell  to 
playing  with  her  bracelet  again. 

"  Yes,"  said  Graziosa  innocently.  "  My  lord  bade  me 
ride  to  the  new  church." 

She  was  very  happy,  and  affection  welled  up  in  her 
tender  heart,  even  for  the  woman  who  had  used  her  so 
cruelly — for  she  was  Gian's  sister. 

With  a  timid  gesture  she  held  out  her  little  hand  to 
Valentine. 

"  Will  you  not  ride  back  beside  me?  "  she  asked,  plead- 
ingly. 

But  Valentine  ignored  her  hand  and  her  request. 

"  Have  you  visited  any  other  churches  in  your  ride?  " 
she  asked. 

"  What  other  church  in  Milan  should  interest  the  Lady 
Graziosa?"  asked  d'Orleans  wearily,  fearing  to  be  sent 
back  on  some  distasteful  journey. 

"  I  did  not  know — I  thought  there  might  be  one — 
Santa  Maria,  close  to  the  western  gate." 

And  Valentine  looked  straight  at  Graziosa,  who  paled 
beneath  her  tone. 

"  How  should  that  interest  me?  "  she  faltered. 

Costanza  put  her  hand  on  Valentine's  sleeve. 

"  Have  a  care,"  she  whispered.  "  Not  before  them  all, 
madama,  for  pity's  sake!" 


IN   VISCONTTS   HANDS  261 

But  Visconti's  sister  took  no  heed;  she  gathered  up  her 
reins  and  signed  to  her  escort  to  move  on. 

M  Of  course,"  she  said,  "  why  should  it  interest  thee? — 
there  is  nothing  there — it  is  only  a  small,  mean  church, 
where  a  poor,  obscure  traitor  lies  on  his  bier."  She  looked 
around  the  startled  faces  with  a  bitter  scorn  on  her  own. 
"  Who  has  heard  of  him? — one  Agnolo  Vistarnini — killed 
by  the  Duke's  orders,  killed  by  thy  lover's  orders,  in  the 
very  hour  that  ye  betrayed  him  to  him,  Graziosa  Vis- 
tarnini! " 

She  flung  the  words  at  her  as  if  they  had  been  knives, 
and  if  they  had  been  they  could  not  have  been  more 
deadly.  Without  a  word,  her  hand  catching  at  her  throat, 
Graziosa  sank  from  her  horse,  the  scene  in  an  instant  one 
of  confusion. 

"  Dieu!  what  have  you  done!  "  cried  d'Orleans,  spring- 
ing from  the  saddle  and  raising  Graziosa.  "  Who  will 
answer  for  this  ?  " 

"  She  will  not  die  of  it,"  said  Valentine,  scornfully. 
"  She  will  take  care  to  live — to  be  Duchess  of  Milan." 

"Oh,  shame!  shame!"  cried  Costanza,  and  several 
echoed  the  cry. 

"  Twas  no  gentle  act,"  said  d'Orleans,  lifting  Graziosa, 
"  and  heaven  save  you  now,  Princess!  " 

"  And  our  heads  may  have  to  pay  for  it,"  grumbled  the 
officer  who  led  Graziosa's  escort.  "  Men,  see  the  Princess 
does  not  escape,  or  there  will  no  one  of  us  live  to  save 
ourselves." 

"Shame!  shame!"  said  the  Duke  again,  as  Graziosa, 
white  as  death,  was  laid  in  a  litter.  "  You  have  done  a 
mad  thing!  "  And  the  whole  fluttering  cavalcade  whirled 
in  startled  confusion  toward  the  palace. 

Valentine  looked  after  them,  and  there  was  no  remorse 
in  her  face. 


262  THE   VIPER    OF   MILAN 

"  You  must  answer  to  the  Duke  for  this,  madama," 
said  the  officer,  "  and  at  once." 

She  turned  her  horse  slowly,  and  at  a  quiet  pace  rode 
toward  the  Visconti  palace.  Costanza  began  to  weep. 

"  Nothing  can  save  you  now,  mistress — why  did  you  do 
it?  Oh,  why!" 

"  Count  Conrad  is  in  Milan!"  was  Valentine's  answer 
to  herself;  and  to  Costanza  she  said,  coldly,  "  Do  not  fear 
for  me.  I  am  too  valuable  to  be  meddled  with.  Even  a 
Visconti  would  not  dare  to  slay  his  sister  before  the 
Frenchman's  eyes." 

They  entered  the  courtyard  in  silence,  the  soldiers 
forming  up  close  around  her.  The  cavalcade  had  ridden 
slowly,  and  there  was  no  trace  of  Graziosa's  arrival.  The 
palace  seemed  quiet.  Valentine  dismounted  as  usual,  and 
was  mounting  the  entrance  steps  when  de  Lana  advanced. 

"  I  have  a  painful  duty  to  discharge,  Princess,"  he  said. 
"  You  are  my  prisoner." 

Valentine  went  white:  she  had  not  expected  this  so 
swiftly. 

"  The  Lady  Graziosa  is  in  danger  of  her  life,"  continued 
de  Lana. 

"  'Tis  no  fault  of  mine,"  said  Valentine.  "  What  do  you 
want  with  me?" 

Costanza  clung  to  her,  weeping  loudly. 

"  Have  done !  "  said  the  soldier,  sternly.  "  Follow  be- 
hind your  lady.  You  will  follow  me,  Princess." 

"  Seeing  I  cannot  help  it,"  retorted  Valentine,  with 
flaming  cheeks.  "  Where  is  my  brother?  Where  is  the 
Duke  d'Orleans?"  She  looked  round  once;  from  some- 
where there  stepped  forward  two  of  de  Lana's  men  and 
took  their  places  at  her  side.  She  moved  up  the  stair, 
Costanza  with  her,  weeping  with  fear. 

The  corridors  were  empty,  save  for  the  soldiers  at  their 
posts.  De  Lana  opened  the  door  of  the  Duke's  apart- 


IX    VISCONTI'S    HANDS  263 

ments  and  stood  aside  for  her  to  enter,  but  Valentine 
shrank  back. 

"  Tis  the  Duke's  orders,"  said  de  Lana,  and  he  moved 
Costanza  back.  "  You  will  enter  alone." 

Then  Valentine  summoned  up  her  courage,  and  when 
she  had  passed  the  door,  de  Lana  followed  and  stood 
beside  it. 

Visconti  was  at  the  table,  behind  him  Giannotto,  and 
at  her  entrance  he  raised  such  a  white,  distorted  face  of 
fury,  that  Valentine  quailed  and  sank  back  against  the 
wall. 

"  Ah ! "  said  Visconti,  "  I  have  it  in  my  mind  to  kill 
you,  my  sister.  I  have  it  in  my  mind  to  give  myself  that 
pleasure — to  kill  you." 

He  rose  as  he  spoke,  and  Giannotto  drew  farther  away 
from  him,  glancing  at  Valentine  with  a  white  amazement; 
the  Duke  was  bordering  on  frenzy. 

"  Oh,"  cried  Visconti  again,  "  so  you  have  no  more 
wits  than  Tisio:  you  think,  because  it  suited  me  that  you 
should  wed  with  d'Orleans,  that  you  are  free  to  flout  me 
at  your  will! " 

"  Now  be  silent,"  breathed  de  Lana  to  Valentine,  who 
leaned  against  the  wall  beside  him. 

"  You!  "  said  Visconti,  stopping  before  her.  "  You! — 
to  meddle  with  me — let  me  lift  my  finger  and  I  can  bring 
you  lower  than  any  slave  in  Milan!  " 

"  Silence!  "  breathed  de  Lana  again.  But  Valentine  had 
too  much  of  her  brother's  own  spirit.  The  madness  of  the 
Visconti  rose  into  her  eyes;  she  straightened  herself  and 
moved  forward  defiantly. 

"  Aye,  or  you  can  kill  me,"  she  said,  "  as  you  have  the 
others ;  but  you  cannot  make  me  humble  before  your  wife 
out  of  the  streets." 

Visconti  stood  stock  still,  and  Giannotto,  glancing  at 
de  Lana,  wondered  if  she  were  to  be  murdered  before 
their  eyes. 


264  THE   VIPER   OF   MILAN 

Under  the  look  in  her  brother's  face  Valentine  stepped 
back  again  and  huddled  herself  against  the  wall :  she  saw 
Visconti  draw  his  dagger — and  she  hid  her  eyes — but 
motionless  and  without  a  sound. 

"  I  have  had  enough  of  you,"  said  Visconti,  and  strode 
down  upon  her  in  a  white  madness  of  fury,  forgetful  of 
all  else.  "  I  will  clear  you  from  my  path — yes,  as  I  did 
the  others."  Then  he  looked  at  de  Lana,  and  something 
in  the  soldiers  face  told  him  he  would  have  to  kill  him 
first. 

"  And  as  I  will  any  who  oppose  me,"  he  cried,  furi- 
ously. "Am  I  not  the  Duke  of  Milan?  Take  thy  hand 
from  thy  sword,  de  Lana.  Now  we  will  settle  scores, 
Valentine."  His  hand  was  lifted,  Giannotto  turned  his  face 
away,  and  de  Lana  had  thrown  himself  forward,  when  a 
light  knock  on  the  door  close  by  broke  the  moment's 
silence,  and  Visconti's  hand  sank  to  his  side. 

"Open!"  he  cried.  "It  is  the  messenger  from  the 
Lady  Graziosa,"  and  de  Lana,  eagerly  seizing  the  inter- 
ruption, flung  wide  the  door. 

Visconti  looked  up  and  met  Valentine's  eyes,  and  she 
knew  how  near  she  was  to  death. 

"  My  lord,"  said  de  Lana,  returning,  "  the  Lady  Grazi- 
osa hath  recovered — there  is  no  fear  of  her  life,  my  lord." 

"  Ah!  "  Visconti  returned  his  dagger  to  its  sheath,  and 
Giannotto  gave  a  gasp  of  relief. 

"  Take  my  sister  to  her  apartments,  de  Lana,  and 
guard  her  well  there — and  if  any  ask  for  her,  say  she  is 
under  my  displeasure " 

The  captain  turned,  glad  to  take  her  from  the  room 
alive. 

"  Will  you  see  the  messenger,  my  lord?  " 

"  No,"  said  Visconti,  fiercely.  "  As  long  as  she  lives, 
what  care  I  for  the  messenger?  " 

The  soldier  seized  Valentine's  wrist  and  forced  her, 


IN    VISCONTFS   HANDS  265 

still  reluctant,  from  the  room.  She  was  conquered,  not 
subdued. 

"  If  Graziosa  dies,"  said  Visconti,  turning  to  Giannotto, 
"  she  does  not  live  either.  You  have  heard  me  say  it. — 
She  and  her  woman's  venom!  "  he  continued,  pacing  the 
room  furiously.  "  I  should  have  swept  her  away  sooner 
— I  would  now  but  for  the  French,  and  the  French  shall 
not  save  her  the  next  time.  He  is  a  fool,  Giannotto,  who 
thinks  that  because  a  woman  is  a  prisoner  she  is  power- 
less— let  him  remember  her  tongue." 

"  My  lord,  she  may  have  thought  the  lady  knew,"  fal- 
tered Giannotto. 

"  Silence !  "  cried  Visconti.  "  She  may  have  thought  I 
wanted  to  give  Isotta  d'Este  her  liberty!  Ah,  let  her 
beware!  Graziosa,  too;  why  did  she  not  tell  her  that 
she  lied?  Had  I  not  said  he  lived?  Has  she  no  spirit 
— no  dignity — to  shame  me  by  her  silence  and  her 
moans! " 

The  secretary  ventured  on  no  reply.  He  fumbled  with 
the  parchments  on  the  table  and  drew  one  forward.  Vis- 
conti's  glance  fell  on  it  and  his  rage  calmed  instantly; 
his  eyes  flashed  with  a  changed  expression. 

"  These  are  the  terms  we  sent  to  Delia  Scala?  "  he 
asked,  with  a  sudden  smile. 

"  Yes,  my  lord ;  terms  I  think  that  cannot  fail." 

The  Duke  sat  silent  a  while,  and  the  smile  deepened 
to  a  laugh. 

"  I  disturb  myself  for  a  woman's  quarrels,"  he  said  at 
last,  "and  am  on  the  eve  of  winning  Lombardy!" 

"  The  Estes  may  already  have  detached  themselves 
from  Delia  Scala,  my  lord,"  said  the  secretary. 

"  We  will  hope  not.  They  will  cling  to  the  losing 
cause,  and  Mastino  della  Scala,  the  stainless  knight,  him- 
self shall  betray  them!  "  smiled  Visconti,  with  such  cruel 
wickedness  that  Giannotto  shrank. 


266  THE   VIPER   OF   MILAN 

"  You  stand  so  strong  after  your  victories,  my  lord," 
he  said,  "  you  might  well  crush  them  all  by  force." 

"  Only  I  do  not  choose  that  way  of  doing  it,"  replied 
the  Duke,  still  smiling.  "  I  will  accomplish  a  bloodless 
victory.  I  will  spend  no  treasure,  no  time,  and  no  men 
on  this  conquest,  but  I  will  win  from  it,  not  alone  Delia 
Scala's  towns,  but  his  honor  and  his  fame." 


CHAPTER   TWENTY-SEVEN 

UNEQUAL   ODDS 

FOR  days  the  sun  had  risen  and  set  in  cloudless  splen- 
dor, hanging  through  the  long  summer  day  in  a  sapphire 
sky,  flooding  the  beautiful  country  with  gold,  making  the 
air  heavy  with  perfume  and  sense  of  summer. 

Mastino  della  Scala,  standing  at  the  door  of  his  tent, 
hardly  saw  the  glory  and  the  brightness,  the  splendor  of 
the  great  chestnuts,  all  deep  green  and  snowy  white, 
the  proud  beauty  of  the  heaped-up  flowers,  the  vivid 
richness  of  the  foliage;  for  his  heart  was  too  sore  for  the 
finest  sun  that  ever  shone  to  ease  it. 

He  had  waited  long,  and  waited  hopelessly. 

In  the  tent  behind  him,  Tomaso  and  a  page  polished 
his  armor.  For  once  Mastino  was  without  it — yesterday 
he  had  donned  it,  and  waited  expectant  for  the  answer 
to  the  challenge  he  could  not  believe  Visconti  could  re- 
fuse. It  was  his  fault  to  think  the  best  of  men,  a  fault 
that  had  cost  him  dear  when  he  had  trusted  Count  Con- 
rad, a  fault  that  had  cost  him  the  insult  now  of  Visconti's 
answer  to  his  message. 

"  I  have  tried  everything,  and  in  everything  I  have  been 
outwitted  or  betrayed.  I  am  helpless,  powerless.  Will  it 
last  unto  the  end?" 

The  thought  burned  across  Mastino's  heart  like  fire. 

"  Would  it  last  unto  the  end  ?  " 

The  dazzling  sun  blinded  him,  the  waving  of  the  green 
made  him  giddy;  he  lifted  the  flap  of  the  tent  and  en- 
tered. 

After  the  glare  the  dark  and  gloom  were  welcome. 
367 


268  THE   VIPER   OF   MILAN 

The  tent  was  large  and  bare,  only  the  two  boys  in  their 
quiet  dresses  and  the  bright  armor  strewn  over  the  worn 
grass,  only  these  and  Ligozzi  seated  near  the  entrance 
watching  Mastino  with  anxious  eyes. 

Delia  Scala  could  not  speak  to  him.  He  avoided  his 
eyes,  he  had  talked  to  him  so  often  on  this  one  theme. 
He  could  not  meet  his  friend's  eyes,  so  often  humiliated 
with  failure,  with  nothing  but  fresh  disaster  to  speak  of. 

In  silence  he  paced  up  and  down  the  tent,  Ligozzi's 
eyes  following  him  wistfully.  He  also  did  not  care  to 
speak. 

Mastino  had  left  the  entrance  half  open,  and  a  great 
shaft  of  sunlight  fell  across  the  ground  like  a  branch  of 
yellow  flowers. 

And  as  Delia  Scala  passed  it  fell  upon  him,  showing 
clearly  his  erect  figure  in  its  leathern  doublet,  his  fine 
worn  face  and  the  unhappiness  in  his  eyes,  his  hands 
locked  behind  his  back. 

The  next  instant  he  had  passed  into  the  shadow  again, 
and  Ligozzi  leaned  from  where  he  sat  and  shook  the 
covering  into  place.  Twice  Mastino  had  passed,  twice  he 
had  seen  the  look  on  his  face,  and  he  did  not  care  to  see 
it  again. 

The  tent  was  hot. 

Tomaso  and  the  page  laid  the  armor  down  in  silence, 
overawed  by  the  silent  figure  pacing  to  and  fro. 

Outside  it  was  quiet  too,  only  now  and  then  the  gallop 
past  of  horses  or  the  tramp  of  men  as  they  moved  from 
one  part  of  the  field  to  another. 

At  last  Mastino  spoke,  stopping  before  Ligozzi  sud- 
denly. 

"  I  have  not  told  thee  yet,"  he  said,  "  but  a  messenger 
has  arrived  from  d'Este.  There  have  been  some  slight 
successes  with  his  army,  and  he  thinks  that  I  should  join 
him." 


UNEQUAL   ODDS  269 

"And  leave  Milan?" 

"  And  leave  Milan.  He  thinks  it  is  hopeless,  now  Rome 
leagues  with  Visconti — he  thinks  it  better  to  hold  what 
we  have  nor  risk  it  all  by  careless  daring — but  I — I  shall 
stay  here,  Ligozzi." 

Ligozzi  was  silent;  he  knew  d'Este's  words  were  true; 
he  knew  Mastino  knew  it  also.  There  was  nothing  to  be 
said. 

"  I  shall  advance  on  Milan,"  continued  Delia  Scala. 
"  If  the  d'Estes'  troops  care  not  to  join  me,  I  will  ad- 
vance alone  with  my  Veronese." 

He  sat  down  on  the  wooden  bench,  fingering  with  nerv- 
ous hands  his  gold  belt  and  the  dagger  that  hung  there. 

"  Why  dost  thou  not  speak  ?  "  he  said,  after  a  mo- 
ment's pause,  suddenly  turning  to  Ligozzi.  "  Dost  thou 
too  think  it  hopeless?" 

There  was  a  wistful  eagerness  in  his  voice  that  struck 
to  Ligozzi's  heart;  he  could  not  utter  his  thought. 

"  With  waiting,  my  lord,"  he  replied.  "  With  new 
allies " 

But  Delia  Scala  cut  him  short. 

"  I  see,  Ligozzi,  I  see.  I  am  a  man  wanting  to  be  per- 
suaded against  himself;  yet  do  I  still  hope  —  against 
myself " 

"  To  rescue " 

"  To  rescue  my  wife,  wouldst  thou  say?  "  flashed  Mas- 
tino. "  No,  I  do  not  hope  that :  that  I  will  do — in  my  soul 
I  know  it;  but  I  still  hope  to  conquer  in  fair  fight.  What 
did  the  attempt  at  guile  avail  us?  We  were  betrayed; 
open  force  were  better." 

Ligozzi's  anger  rose  at  the  thought  of  that  betrayal. 

"  I  would  I  had  the  slaying  of  the  traitors !  "  he  cried. 

Mastino  smiled  sadly. 

"  What  were  we  to  her?  She  loved,  perchance.  I 
should  have  done  the  same — for  Isotta." 


270  THE   VIPER    OF   MILAN 

"  Thou  wert  ever  too  gentle,  my  lord,"  returned  Li- 
gozzi.  "  Could  woman  love  Visconti?  " 

"  She  loved  some  one  of  her  own  creating,  I  trow," 
said  Delia  Scala.  "  Poor  lady!  the  awakening  will  be  her 
punishment." 

Ligozzi  made  no  reply.  Mastino's  point  of  view  was 
not  his:  in  his  eyes  Graziosa  was  a  hussy  he  would  have 
liked  to  have  the  hanging  of. 

"  In  two  days  or  a  little  more,  when  I  have  had  my  an- 
swer from  the  Estes,"  said  Mastino,  rising,  "  I  march  on 
Milan." 

"  But  in  those  two  days?  "  questioned  Ligozzi. 

"  Visconti  seems  to  have  ceased  all  sallies,"  said  Delia 
Scala;  "  and  yet  I  know  not  what  this  quiet  means." 

"  It  means  his  policy  was  ever  caution,"  returned  Li- 
gozzi. "  Of  a  sudden  he  may " 

"  He  may  do  anything,"  cried  Mastino;  "  he  hath  Milan 
and  Rome  and  the  Empire  to  back  him.  Still  do  I  hold 
many  towns.  Verona  is  strongly  fortified;  I  lie  between 
him  and  Mantua.  He  cannot  fall  on  those." 

"  He  has  Padua,  Bassano,  Mestre,  and  Chioggia,"  said 
Ligozzi. 

Mastino  struck  his  hand  against  the  tent  impatiently. 

"  I  know !  "  he  cried.  "  I  know  the  odds  are  not  equal ! 
When  I  seek  to  comfort  myself,  why  wilt  thou  remind 
me,  Ligozzi?  What  can  I  do?  Nothing  but  what  I  say: 
march  on  Milan.  And  mark  me,  Ligozzi;  whatever  befall, 
if  all  desert  me  to  a  man,  if  d'Este  fail  me,  I  will  not 
leave  the  walls  of  Milan — alive,  without  my  wife." 

"  I  will  not  desert  thee,"  said  Ligozzi  simply.  "  I  will 
never  desert  thee,  my  lord." 

"  I  never  doubted  thee,"  returned  Mastino  impulsively. 
"  Ah,  forgive  me  if  I  am  harsh,  for  in  truth  my  heart  is 
very  heavy;  when  I  think  of  her — in  Visconti's  power — 
it  is  terrible !  terrible !  " 


UNEQUAL   ODDS  271 

He  shuddered  and  put  his  hand  on  Ligozzi's  shoulder, 
speaking  eagerly. 

"Such  things  cannot  happen,  Ligozzi,  can  they?  It 
cannot  be  I  shall  never  see  her  again!  God  cannot  mean 
that — though  He  take  all  from  me,  though  He  humil- 
iate me  before  my  enemy,  He  cannot  mean  that!  No! 
Visconti  is  not  leagued  with  Heaven:  it  cannot  be!  it 
cannot  be! " 

"  No,"  said  Ligozzi ;  "  even  Visconti  would  not  dare 
to  harm  the  Duchess.  Ye  will  see  her  again,  my  lord." 

Delia  Scala  turned  away  to  the  other  end  of  the  tent;  it 
was  plain  to  him  Ligozzi's  heart  was  not  in  the  comfort 
that  he  gave,  that  he  thought  with  the  others  that  they 
would  do  well  to  fall  back  from  Milan,  join  the  Estes, 
and  hold  the  towns  they  had. 

"  But  they  do  not  understand,"  said  Mastino  in  his 
heart.  "  I  will  never  go  back  alive — without  my  wife." 


CHAPTER   TWENTY-EIGHT 

THE  VIPER 

THE  Duke  of  Milan  had  sent  a  secret  embassy  to 
Mastino  della  Scala,  lying  crushed  outside  Milan — a 
secret  embassy  he  had  long  been  meditating.  The  master- 
stroke of  his  policy  should  be  the  Duke  of  Verona's  ruin, 
and  his  complete  triumph. 

And  the  moment  of  his  sending  was  well  chosen.  The 
two  days  of  which  Mastino  spoke  had  passed.  The  an- 
swer from  d'Este  at  Novara  had  been  unfavorable.  His 
plans,  he  said,  were  to  march  back  to  Modena  and 
Ferrara,  protecting  that  part  of  Lombardy,  held  now  by 
Julia  Gonzaga's  men  alone,  against  Visconti ;  he  would 
wait  for  his  army  to  come  up;  he  would  wait  for  Mas- 
tino, but  not  long;  his  duty  lay  inside  Modena  and 
Ferrara,  not  outside  the  hopeless  walls  of  Milan. 

And  Mastino  had  set  his  teeth,  and  taken  his  answer 
in  silence. 

That  night  there  was  a  wild  attack  on  the  walls  of 
Milan,  so  sudden,  so  fierce,  that  it  almost  seemed  as  if 
the  ramparts  must  fall  before  the  furious  onslaught. 

For  five  hours  the  Veronese  and  the  defenders  had 
struggled  on  the  walls.  Twice  Mastino  had  wrenched  the 
towers  of  the  western  gate  from  the  enemy's  hand ;  twice 
he  had  been  driven  back,  leaving  his  dead  piled  high.  A 
third  desperate  attempt  had  also  been  lost,  and  Delia 
Scala  fell  back  toward  Brescia  with  frightfully  dimin- 
ished numbers,  and  mad  with  the  agony  of  final  defeat. 

272 


THE   VIPER  273 

His  cause  seemed  hopeless.  And  in  the  moment  of  his 
hopelessness  Visconti's  embassy  arrived. 

"  Give  Delia  Scala  one  day  to  consider/'  Visconti  said 
to  Giannotto,  who  accompanied  de  Lana  on  this  mission. 
"  An  if  he  mislikes  the  terms,  say  thou  art  to  carry  them 
to  Ippolito  d'Este." 

It  was  evening,  and  very  still.  Visconti  stepped  onto 
the  balcony,  and  looked  through  the  clustered  pillars  of 
its  arcade  into  the  garden. 

The  setting  sun  blended  all  flowers  alike  with  soft 
gold ;  a  little  breeze  shook  the  leaves,  and  stirred  the 
jasmine  that  clung  to  the  carved  sandstone,  fluttering  its 
white  stars  delicately ;  the  sky  was  very  clear,  as  pure  as 
a  shell,  and  tinted  like  a  wild  rose. 

Visconti  was  busy  with  his  thoughts.  His  eyes  rested 
on  Isotta's  dark  prison  with  an  utter  satisfaction  in  gaz- 
ing on  this  evidence  of  his  power  over  Delia  Scala.  And 
then  he  looked  to  Graziosa's  dwelling,  and  a  shade 
crossed  his  face.  Even  to  himself  he  would  not  yet  ad- 
mit it — but  with  her  it  was  not  perfect  success. 

Since  Valentine's  cruel  stab,  Graziosa  had  faded, 
grown  silent  and  dull ;  and  her  beauty  had  gone  with  her 
happiness.  She  looked  no  wife  for  a  Visconti.  Torn  from 
its  setting,  her  fresh  face  lost  its  charm ;  the  simplicity 
that  had  pleased  him  in  her  father's  house  annoyed  the 
Duke  in  his  own  palace ;  the  meekness  and  devotion  that 
had  flattered  his  vanity  now  angered  it — in  his  eyes  she 
had  no  more  presence  than  a  serving-maid;  she  was 
making  his  choice  a  mock  before  all  Milan,  with  her 
white  face  and  timid  voice. 

Visconti  frowned  to  himself  as  he  thought  of  her.  She 
had  said  no  word,  she  had  uttered  no  reproach ;  she  had 
remained  passive  and  dull ;  but  she  was  grown  a  mere 
shadow,  a  reflection  of  her  former  self. 

"  Maybe  her  folly  will  wear  away,"  mused  Visconti 


274  THE   VIPER   OF   MILAN 

moodily.  "  But  if  not — if  she  prefers  her  father  before 
me — she  may  follow  him." 

To-day  he  had  not  as  yet  seen  her.  This  was  the  first 
thought  he  had  spared  her ;  now  he  had  a  free  moment 
and  he  would  visit  her — see  for  himself  if  her  humor 
should  promise  of  changing — the  humor  of: 

"  My  Lady  Graziosa  Vistarnini,  who  hath  not  spirit 
for  her  destiny,  who  hath  not  the  greatness  to  be  proud 
to  be  a  Duchess  of  Milan." 

Visconti  sneered  at  her  scruples,  and  was  inclined  to 
be  angry  with  his  own  folly  in  choosing  his  wife  for  a 
soft  heart  and  true  affection;  and  with  more  even  than 
anger  he  thought  of  Valentine.  He  took  his  way  alone 
through  the  sumptuous  gardens. 

Graziosa  was  not  in  her  gorgeous  residence.  "  She 
had  gone  to  the  little  summer-house  in  the  garden," 
he  was  told,  "  to  see  the  sun  set,  and  pray  to  Santa 
Teresa,  whose  name-day  it  was." 

Visconti  turned  on  his  heel  with  an  impatient  shrug 
of  the  shoulders.  He  was  not  attuned  to  passive  virtue 
or  to  saintly  prayers,  nor  was  his  palace  their  best 
background. 

He  saw  Tisio  and  his  pages  in  the  distance — behind 
them,  the  white  marble  summer-house,  standing  on  a 
gentle  eminence,  half  hidden  in  laurel ;  and  as  he  ad- 
vanced through  the  clustering  flowers  he  saw  Tisio  enter 
the  low  door,  the  scarlet  liveries  of  the  pages  flashing 
through  the  deep  green. 

The  perfect  evening  was  like  music  in  its  calm  loveli- 
ness. Visconti  felt  its  charm;  he  was  ever  alive  to 
obvious  beauty,  and  none  of  his  artist's  perception  could 
have  walked  this  glorious  summer  garden,  at  such  an 
hour,  unmoved.  His  heart  softened  toward  Graziosa: 
she  had  saved  Milan — for  his  sake :  in  his  great  triumph 
he  could  afford  to  remember  it,  and  the  affection  that 


THE   VIPER  275 

prompted  it,  and  set  to  her  credit  much  else  she  might 
seem  to  lack. 

He  picked  a  white  rose  from  the  bush  that  crossed  his 
path,  and  stuck  it  in  his  belt;  he  remembered  she  had 
often  worn  them — there  was  a  bush  in  Agnolo's  bower, 
and  they  reminded  him  of  her.  He  looked  up  at  the 
white  summer-house,  a  square  tower,  distinct  against 
the  sky:  the  top  window  was  open  wide,  then  suddenly 
blew  to — and  Visconti  started  at  it  curiously  and  so 
suddenly  that  a  pang  shot  through  his  heart.  Then  he 
advanced  with  a  quicker  step  toward  the  marble  summer- 
house. 

Graziosa  stood  in  its  upper  chamber,  a  circular  room, 
broken  by  three  large  windows — the  walls  a  marvel  of 
serpentine  and  jasper,  the  casements  a  glory  of  stained 
glass,  through  which  there  poured  the  last  rays  of  the 
setting  sun,  flooding  everything  with  a  thousand  dazzling 
colors. 

A  carved  marble  bench  ran  around  the  wall,  and  above 
it  shallow  niches,  in  one  of  which  stood  a  gilt  lamp.  On 
the  floor  lay  a  forgotten  lute,  tied  with  a  knot  of  cherry- 
colored  ribbons. 

Graziosa  unlatched  one  of  the  windows;  it  opened 
center-wise,  and  the  girl  stood,  one  hand  on  either  leaf, 
the  sun  making  her  golden  bright  from  head  to  foot. 
Before  her  lay  Milan,  the  beautiful,  with  its  trees  and 
gardens,  clear  in  the  setting  sun,  that  sunk,  a  fiery  ball, 
behind  the  distant  purple  hills.  Graziosa  breathed  heavily. 
The  tower  looked  toward  the  western  gate ;  the  sun 
caught  the  roof  of  a  little  house  beside  it,  the  roof  of 
a  house  and  a  flock  of  white  doves  that  flew  around 
it,  as  if  looking  for  something  they  could  not  find.  Near 
rose  the  square  tower  of  a  little  church,  Santa  Maria 
Nuova. 

Graziosa  stepped  back  into  the  room,  letting  the  win- 
dow fall-to  with  a  clang.  Some  one  must  come  soon. 


276  THE   VIPER   OF   MILAN 

With  a  piteous  little  gesture  she  pulled  at  the  jeweled 
fastening  of  her  stiff  satin  robe.  For  some  moments  her 
trembling  fingers  could  not  undo  the  great  pearl  clasp. 
At  last  it  opened,  and  the  yellow  robe  fell  apart. 

A  rope  of  pearls  bound  her  waist :  with  a  hasty  move- 
ment she  undid  them,  and  let  slip  the  gorgeous  dress, 
that  fell  stiff  and  gemmed  onto  the  marble  floor.  Beneath 
was  the  blue  robe  she  had  worn  when  she  first  came 
to  the  palace. 

With  hasty  fingers  she  pulled  the  ornaments  from  her 
hair,  throwing  them  to  the  ground.  Her  long  curls  fell 
about  her  shoulders ;  a  little  sob  shook  her  throat ;  she 
looked  wistfully  around,  and  sank  into  the  chair.  For 
a  little  while  she  sat  silent,  with  closed  eyes,  panting. 

Suddenly  the  sun  sank,  leaving  the  room  dull,  all  the 
light  and  color  gone. 

Graziosa  opened  her  eyes  with  a  little  cry. 

"  I  am  so  lonely !  "  she  whispered  to  herself — "  so 
lonely.  I  want  some  one — to  kiss  me — good-by." 

She  rose  and  fumbled  among  the  folds  of  her  fallen 
gown;  she  found  something  small  she  grasped  tight  in 
her  cold  fingers. 

"  I  am  not  brave — ah,  I  fear  I  am  not  brave !  " 

She  rested  her  head  against  the  arm  of  the  chair, 
as  if  collecting  herself;  then,  with  a  little  smile,  lifted 
it  with  a  pitiful  show  of  courage. 

The  wind  blew  the  unlatched  window  open,  showing 
the  city  roofs  and  the  wall  distant  and  gray ;  then  it  fell- 
to  again,  leaving  the  chamber  dull,  almost  dark,  when 
a  little  later  a  footstep  fell  on  the  stair  and  the  door 
was  pushed  open. 

Tisio  stepped  in,  peering  around  with  vacant  eyes. 
D'Orleans  had  lost  his  lute.  Tisio  remembered  it  left 
here.  A  heap  of  shimmering  yellow  satin  caught  his 
eye — yellow  satin  and  a  great  rope  of  pearls.  He  marked 


THE   VIPER  277 

it  with  vacant  surprise,  then,  seeing  the  lute  he  sought 
for,  made  for  it  eagerly.  He  was  proud  to  do  these 
things.  It  pleased  him  to  be  so  useful.  He  would  not 
risk  the  page  should  find  it.  The  lute  lay  near  the 
bench  against  the  wall,  and,  picking  it  up,  Tisio  no- 
ticed that  some  one  sat  there,  some  one  very  still  and 
silent,  against  the  cold  white  marble.  He  dropped  the 
lute  and  came  nearer.  The  chamber  was  utterly  silent 
in  the  cold  light,  and  the  window  was  blowing  to  and 
fro  with  a  dismal,  sullen  sound;  but  Tisio  knew  no 
ghostly  terrors,  he  was  not  fearful  of  the  dark. 

He  leaned  over  the  figure  eagerly,  and  when  he  knew 
it  for  Graziosa  he  was  pleased.  He  liked  her.  That  morn- 
ing she  had  met  him  and  seized  his  hands,  and  talked 
to  him  wildly,  telling  him  with  sobs  something  he  could 
not  understand.  He  thought  it  had  to  do  with  Gian. 

Her  head  lay  back  against  the  purple  cushion,  and 
Tisio  stroked  it  tenderly,  fondling  the  beautiful  bright 
curls  that  fell  over  the  plain  blue  dress. 

"Pretty  thing!"  he  said  gently.  "Pretty  thing!" 

He  had  no  remembrance  how  he  had  stroked  that  hair 
before,  in  the  streets  of  Milan,  in  the  sunshine. 

She  never  moved  under  his  touch,  and  something  in 
the  droop  of  her  attitude  struck  him. 

"  She  is  sad,"  he  thought,  and  with  a  change  of  tone 
he  lifted  one  of  her  limp  hands. 

"  Poor  thing !  "  he  said  again.  "  Poor,  pretty  thing ! 
Art  thou  sad,  poor,  pretty  thing  ?  " 

She  made  no  answer,  and  he  laid  her  hand  back  on 
her  lap  tenderly,  smoothing  her  dress,  and  whispering 
comfort  in  her  unhearing  ears. 

Suddenly  the  door  swung  under  an  impetuous  hand. 
It  was  the  Duke,  but  Tisio  was  not  startled. 

"  Gian ! "  he  said,  "  be  kind  to  her ;  talk  to  her,  poor 
thing!" 


278  THE   VIPER   OF   MILAN 

Visconti  stepped  into  the  room,  looking  at  Tisio  keenly. 

"  Where  is  she  ?  "  he  asked,  for  in  the  gloom  he  could 
not  at  once  see  the  silent  figure  in  the  corner.  "  Where 
is  she,  Tisio?  " 

"  The  girl  with  the  pretty  hair — "  began  his  brother ; 
but  Visconti  grasped  him  by  the  arm  with  a  cry. 

"  Bring  me  a  light !  "  he  cried,  "  a  light " 

With  trembling  hands  Tisio  lit  the  lamp  and  brought 
it  near.  Its  yellow  light  fell  over  Visconti's  green  dress 
and  Graziosa's  bright  hair. 

"  If  it  should  be  so !  "  muttered  Visconti.  "  If  it  should 
be  so!" 

The  light  was  faint,  but  it  showed  him  enough.  He 
looked  into  her  face,  and  his  own  changed  darkly. 

"  Tisio,"  he  said,  "  she's  dead !  Graziosa !  Graziosa !  " 

He  bent  closer,  eagerly. 

"Get  help,  Tisio!  help!" 

And  Tisio,  eager,  alert,  put  the  lamp  in  the  window, 
where  it  flung  long,  ghostly  shadows,  and  sped  calling 
down  the  stairs. 

Visconti  had  sent  for  help,  yet  even  while  he  sent  he 
knew  it  useless :  she  was  dead !  He  stood  looking  at 
her.  Poison! — she  had  poisoned  herself.  Something 
was  tightly  locked  in  her  right  hand!  he  forced  the 
fingers  apart,  and  looked  at  it — poison. 

"  How  dared  she  do  it  ?  "  he  muttered,  with  an  ever- 
darkening  face.  "  How  dared  she  ? — who  gave  it  her  ? 
Who  dared  to  give  it  her  ?  " 

He  would  never  have  thought  it  lay  in  her  to  do 
this.  All  Milan  must  know  she  had  preferred  to  die 
rather  than  be  his  bride.  He  had  failed  in  this,  though 
he  had  sworn  he  could  not,  though  he  had  sworn  she 
should  share  his  throne  before  them  all — the  woman 
who  loved  him  for  himself  alone.  He  remembered  Val- 
entine. Valentine  had  done  this. 


THE   VIPER  279 

At  his  feet  lay  the  satin  garments  and  the  jewels 
Graziosa  had  flung  aside:  she  would  not  wear  them. 
Not  all  his  power  could  do  that;  not  all  his  pride,  all 
his  ambition,  could  make  her  wear  the  crown,  without 
the  love.  Gian  Visconti  stamped  his  foot.  How  dared 
she!  How  dared  she! 

Her  eyes  would  never  sparkle  at  his  coming  nor 
sadden  at  his  good-by.  And  Visconti,  coming  back  to 
look  at  her  again,  was  awed;  affection  stirred  anew, 
and  something  like  respect  at  the  sight  of  her  still 
dignity. 

He  looked  around  to  find  the  door  full  of  anxious 
faces,  and  Tisio  behind  him. 

"  Finely  I  am  served !  "  he  cried  in  a  transport.  "  Do 
you  let  the  Lady  Graziosa  go  unattended  ?  She  hath  been 
murdered,  and  those  who  should  have  been  with  her  shall 
die  for  it!" 

Weeping  ladies  and  frightened  pages  crept  in  and 
stood  aghast,  silent  at  what  they  saw — more  silent  at 
his  face. 

Visconti  stood  before  Graziosa's  body  and  looked  at 
them  with  mad  eyes ;  he  held  a  white  rose  in  his  fingers. 
The  flickering  lamp  was  just  over  his  head ;  its  light  fell 
on  his  face  and  on  hers — her  sweet  face  that  told  its 
own  tale. 

For  some  moments  Visconti  was  silent,  gazing  at  them 
wildly,  and  it  seemed  to  more  than  one  of  those  who 
crowded  there  appalled  that  there  came  a  new  expression 
to  his  face,  a  new  look  into  his  widely  opened  eyes — not 
madness  and  not  rage — but  fear. 

"  In  a  week  I  would  have  made  her  Duchess  of  Milan," 
he  said  at  last,  with  a  sudden  break  in  his  voice;  and 
he  dropped  his  white  rose  at  her  dead  feet,  with  a  shud- 
der, and  turned  away,  through  the  crowd  that  fell  away 
from  him,  down  the  stairs  in  silence. 


28o  THE   VIPER    OF   MILAN 

It  was  two  hours  later,  in  the  hushed,  awe-struck,  half- 
expectant  palace,  when  Visconti  opened  the  door  of  his 
inner  room  and  stepped  into  the  antechamber,  where  one 
page  kept  watch. 

To  him  the  Duke  beckoned,  handing  him  a  glass  with 
milk-white  lines  circling  it — a  slender,  flower-like  glass 
with  a  long  stem. 

"  Fill  up  with  wine,"  he  said. 

The  page  obeyed. 

"  Now  bring  the  glass  and  follow  me,"  said  Visconti, 
and  left  the  room,  the  boy  behind  him. 

Before  his  sister's  door  he  paused.  Soldiers  guarded 
it:  within  could  be  heard  footsteps  and  anxious,  fright- 
ened voices,  the  whispers  of  the  tragedy.  The  key  was 
turned:  he  entered,  opening  the  door  quietly,  admitting 
himself  and  the  page,  the  guard  closing  it  behind  him. 

The  room  was  lofty,  and,  like  all  Visconti's  rooms, 
ill-lit.  A  great  crucifix  hung  at  the  far  end,  and  before 
it  knelt  Valentine.  When  she  heard  the  door  she  turned 
and  started  to  her  feet. 

"  Put  the  wine  down  and  go,"  said  Visconti  to  the  page. 

"  Ah,  no ! "  cried  Valentine.  "  Let  the  page  stay, 
Gian!" 

She  stepped  forward  with  imploring  eyes  upon  the 
boy. 

"  Go,"  said  Visconti  again. 

"  In  the  name  of  mercy,  stay ! "  cried  Valentine,  in 
sudden  desperate  fear,  seeing  her  brother's  face. 
"Stay!" 

The  wretched  page  hesitated,  but  not  for  long.  Vis- 
conti turned  once  more,  and  he  tapped  on  the  door  to  be 
let  out,  making  no  more  ado. 

Visconti  watched  him  go,  then  stepped  to  the  inner 
door  and  locked  it  on  the  women  whispering  and  quaking 
within. 


THE  VIPER  281 

Valentine  tried  to  speak ;  the  words  died  away  on  her 
tongue ;  she  fell  back  against  the  tapestry,  grasping  it  in 
stiff  ringers,  her  eyes  on  his  face. 

Visconti  seated  himself  at  the  table  on  Which  the  page 
had  stood  the  glass,  and,  resting  his  face  on  his  hands, 
looked  at  her.  The  Viper  on  his  doublet  seemed  to 
writhe,  alive. 

"  Graziosa  is  dead/'  he  said. 

Valentine's  eyes  grew  wild  with  fear. 

"  I  did  not  kill  her ! "  she  cried.  "  I  did  not  kill  her, 
Gian!" 

"  I  found  her  dead,"  said  Visconti,  still  looking  at  her. 

Valentine  writhed  against  the  wall,  wringing  her 
hands.  "  She  slew  herself,"  she  moaned.  "  I  did  not  kill 
her! " 

"  I  shall  not  kill  thee,"  said  Gian. 

He  looked  down  at  the  wine  as  he  spoke,  with  a  smile. 

Valentine  threw  herself  on  her  knees. 

"  I  did  not  touch  her !  "  she  screamed  wildly.  "  I  did 
not  lay  a  hand  on  her !  " 

"  I  shall  not  touch  thee ;  I  shall  not  lay  a  hand  on 
thee,"  smiled  Visconti. 

"  Then  I  shall  not  die  ?  I  shall  not  die  ?  " 

She  staggered  to  her  feet,  with  an  effort  to  be  calm. 

"  Thou  wilt  not  die  ?  "  said  Visconti,  softly,  his  eyes 
on  her.  "  Thou  wilt  drink — this."  And  he  touched  the 
glass  beside  him. 

"  Thou  canst  not  be  so  cruel,"  pleaded  Valentine.  "  I 
am  thy  sister,  Gian " 

"  Do  I  think  so  much  of  family  affection  ?  "  said  Vis- 
conti. "  Still,  she  was  to  be  my  wife !  Thou  wilt  drink 
this." 

Valentine  flung  herself  on  her  knees  again,  and 
dragged  herself  along  the  floor  toward  him. 

"  Have  pity ! "  she  cried.  "  Have  pity,  I  am  so  help- 


282  THE   VIPER   OF   MILAN 

less!  Spare  me,  and  I  will  never  offend  thee  again — 
never !  " 

"  Thou  hast  strangely  lost  thy  courage,"  returned  her 
brother.  "What  is  there  in  drinking  this  wine?" 

She  was  at  his  feet,  clinging  to  him,  imploring. 

"  Let  me  live  till  morning !  "  she  pleaded.  "  Do  not 
kill  me  here — in  this  dark  chamber.  Oh!  I  cannot  die 
here,  I  cannot !  " 

Visconti  looked  at  her  calmly. 

"  Graziosa  died  not  in  a  fairer  place,  she  died  lonely 
and  alone,"  he  said.  "  Thou  wilt  drink  this."  He  put 
out  his  hand  and  drew  the  glass  nearer.  "  Come,  thou  wilt 
drink  this." 

"  I  am  so  young,"  sobbed  Valentine.  "  Think,  Gian ; 
I  am  so  young,  Gian !  " 

"  Graziosa  was  no  older,"  he  said. 

She  clung  to  his  hand  in  agony,  beseeching  him,  calling 
on  him,  wildly  trying  to  move  him  to  let  her  live  until 
the  morning — only  until  morning ! 

"  Graziosa  died  after  the  sun  had  set,"  said  Visconti. 
"  Drink  the  wine,  nor  keep  me  here  so  long.  Thou  hast 
often  wished  to  escape — where  is  thy  courage  gone,  not 
to  take  this  chance  ?  " 

"  But  not  to  die  like  this — not  like  this — give  me  a 
priest!" 

"  Had  Graziosa  one  ?  " 

She  cowered  down  on  the  floor,  her  beautiful  hair 
falling  over  her  shoulders,  her  face  hidden;  then  sud- 
denly uplifted  it  again  to  Visconti,  who  sat  looking  at 
her,  motionless.  jfy 

"  Gian,  I  loved  thee  once,  when  we  were  little  children." 

"  I  have  forgotten  it,  and  so  hadst  thou  until  this  mo- 
ment— drink ! " 

Valentine  sprang  up  in  a  paroxysm  of  uncontrollable 
terror.  s 


THE   VIPER  283 

"I  cannot!  I  cannot!  Kill  me  thyself!" 

"  With  this  ?  "  and  Visconti  touched  his  dagger.  "  No ; 
a  smoother  death  for  one  so  fair." 

Valentine  flew  to  the  door  and  clung  to  it. 

"  Philippe !  Philippe !  "  she  shrieked.  "  Conrad !  Cos- 
tanza !  " 

Visconti  rose  suddenly,  with  such  force  as  to  fling  over 
the  chair.  "  Cease !  "  he  cried.  "  Wilt  thou  drink  this  ? 
or  who  dost  thou  think  will  dare  to  interrupt  me  now  ?  " 

Valentine's  wild  eyes  looked  at  him  in  silence  a  mo- 
ment, then  her  glance  dropped. 

"  Give  it  me,"  she  whispered. 

Visconti  did  not  move. 

"  Come  and  take  it,"  he  said. 

She  came  slowly,  one  hand  against  the  wall,  her  long 
shadow  flickering  before  her. 

Visconti  watched  her,  motionless.  "  Make  haste,"  he 
said.  "  Make  haste." 

She  came  to  the  table,  her  eyes  down,  her  breast 
heaving,  past  tears  or  entreaties. 

"  Drink !  "  said  Visconti,  leaning  with  narrowing  eyes 
across  the  space  between  them.  "  Drink  in  it  Delia 
Scala's  health,  as  thou  didst  once  before." 

Valentine  raised  her  head  and  looked  at  him,  and  grew 
fascinated  with  terror.  She  crouched  away  from  him, 
and  lifted  the  glass  to  her  lips. 

Visconti  bent  nearer  and  she  drank,  putting  it  down 
half  empty  with  a  shudder  and  staring  eyes. 

Visconti  smiled,  and  brought  the  evil  of  his  face  still 
nearer. 

"  Drink  the  rest,"  he  sai(£  "  Drink  it,  Valentine." 

Still  in  silence  she  obeyed  him. 

When  the  empty  glass  stood  before  him,  Visconti 
turned  away,  taking  his  eyes  from  her  with  a  laugh,  and 
walked  toward  the  door. 


284  THE   VIPER   OF   MILAN 

Valentine's  gaze  followed  him  with  a  look  of  utter 
woe;  still  she  said  nothing,  from  her  parted  lips  there 
came  no  sound. 

He  looked  back  over  his  shoulder  at  her,  standing 
there  with  her  face  toward  him,  with  all  expression 
gone,  with  unseeing  eyes. 

"  I  will  leave  thee,"  he  said  savagely,  "  to  await — the 
morning." 

She  seemed  roused  by  the  sound  of  his  voice,  and 
stepped  forward  with  a  cry  on  her  white  lips. 

But  the  door  closed  heavily — the  room  was  in  dark- 
ness, or  was  it  her  sight  failed  her?  Everything  swam 
before  her  in  a  blackening  mist ;  she  grasped  at  the  table 
and  fell  across  it,  senseless. 

The  dawn  was  breaking,  filling  the  room  with  a  gray 
and  ghostly  light;  the  great  curtains  looked  black  and 
gloomy,  and  the  corners  of  the  room  were  filled  with 
strange  and  moving  shadows.  Through  an  open  window 
a  cool  breeze  blew  across  Valentine's  sick  forehead :  she 
opened  her  eyes.  The  empty  glass  met  her  gaze,  the  fallen 
chair  was  beside  her :  she  looked  at  them  strangely.  She 
was  still  alive. 

"  Gian's  poison  is  slow,"  she  said,  and  smiled  to  herself. 

After  a  time  she  rose  and  stumbled  to  the  window. 

"  When  the  sun  rises  I  shall  be  dead,  or  perhaps  I 
shall  live  till  noon,"  she  said  to  herself. 

She  mounted  the  estrade  and  sat  beside  the  open  win- 
dow, resting  her  head  against  the  woodwork,  singing  to 
herself. 

Suddenly  the  whole  gray  sky  flushed  purple :  the  sun 
rose  above  the  horizon. 

Valentine  looked  down  into  the  garden,  the  sight 
seemed  to  awaken  memories. 

"  Hush !  "  She  laid  her  finger  on  her  mouth.  "  Hush, 
Conrad — if  Gian  hears  us — hast  thou  velvet  shoes  on — 


THE   VIPER  285 

hush !  He  treads  warily — ah,  but  it  is  no  use — he  poisoned 
me !  he  poisoned  me !  " 

She  rocked  herself  to  and  fro. 

"  In  a  tall  glass  with  white  lines — it  was  not  Gian — 
it  was  the  Viper  from  the  Standard — all  green  and  silver 
— all  green  and  silver — a  coiling  viper." 

She  dropped  her  head  forward,  then  raised  it  with 
trembling  lips. 

"  Conrad !  come  and  save  me ! "  Then  she  fell  to 
laughing,  whispering  under  her  breath,  counting  on  her 
fingers  the  hours  she  might  have  to  live.  "If  to  noon — 
how  many?" 

The  door  opened,  and  she  stopped  her  muttering, 
turning  lackluster  eyes  toward  it. 

"  Good-morrow,"  said  Visconti,  standing  with  his  back 
against  it  and  looking  at  her  keenly.  "  Good-morrow, 
Valentine." 

She  looked  at  him  and  put  the  hair  back  from  her 
face. 

"  I  thought  I  saw  Count  Conrad  walking  in  the  gar- 
den: I  would  have  called  him  up  to  see  me  die — 
how  long  will  it  be  ?  " 

Visconti  advanced  with  a  bitter  smile.  "  Has  the 
lesson  tamed  thee?  It  would  have  been  reality,  but  ye 
are  pledged  to  France.  I  would  that  I  dare  poison  thee, 
thou  tiger-cat,  but  thou  art  tamed ! " 

Valentine  face  did  not  change.  "  Hush ! "  she  said, 
leaning  from  the  window.  "  He  is  back  on  the  tower 
now — "  she  pointed  to  where  the  silver  banner  hung 
idle  against  the  brightening  sky.  "  What  dost  thou  think  ? 
shall  I  sit  and  watch,  lest  he  spy  on  us,  Conrad?  " 

Visconti  looked  at  her. 

"  Thou  art  tamed  indeed,"  he  said.  "  I  am  not  ill- 
avenged." 

Valentine  stepped  down  into  the  room,  her  tangled 


286  THE   VIPER   OF   MILAN 

hair  hanging  about  her,  and  grasped  him  by  the  arm. 
"  I  was  waiting — "  she  whispered.  "  I  feared  he  would 
come  back  before  I  was  dead.  Ah!  and  he  did!  Count 
Conrad  could  not  keep  him  off;  the  Viper,  green  and 
silver;  the  Viper,  he  has  poisoned  me."  And  she  sank 
onto  the  floor  with  a  sudden  scream,  her  hands  before 
her  eyes. 

"  Thou  art  neither  poisoned  nor  dying,"  said  Visconti, 
roughly.  "  Call  thy  women,  and — remember." 

She  looked  at  him  with  vacant  eyes. 

Visconti  turned  away.  "  She  is  not  likely  to  forget, 
it  seems,"  he  thought.  "  Her  spirit  will  not  trouble  my 
path  more." 

Neither  his  nor  anyone's.  The  brilliant,  witty,  and 
daring  Valentine  Visconti 's  was  to  dare,  to  mock,  to 
laugh  no  more;  her  high  spirit  was  broken,  her  proud 
courage  gone.  From  that  fearful  night  she  was  timorous, 
shrinking,  like  a  child,  wandering  and  vacant — like  Tisio, 
half -crazed. 


CHAPTER   TWENTY-NINE 

THE  ORDEAL  OF  MASTINO  DELLA  SCALA 

A  SECRET  embassy  from  Milan ! " 

Mastino  repeated  the  words  slowly,  and  looked  at 
Ligozzi  who  had  brought  them.  "  And  to  see  me  alone  ?  " 

"  With  terms  from  Visconti — so  they  said,"  answered 
Ligozzi.  "  Terms  of  peace." 

"  From  Visconti !  " 

Mastino  looked  out  through  the  open  entrance  into 
the  blinding  summer  day,  and  then  back  at  Ligozzi.  "  I 
fear  they  come  with  no  honorable  terms — from  Visconti 
victorious." 

"  They  would  never  dare  come  with  dishonorable  ones 
— to  thee,  my  lord,"  returned  Ligozzi. 

Mastino  laughed  bitterly. 

"  Dare !  He  is  Visconti — with  near  all  Italy  at  his  back 
— he  knows  no  such  words  as  shame  or  honor.  And  I 
must  see  his  messengers,"  he  added,  after  a  pause.  "  I 
know  no  such  words  now  as  pride  or  refusal." 

Ligozzi  turned,  but  hesitated  at  the  entrance. 

"  And — alone  ?  "  he  asked.  "  They  are  from  Visconti." 

"  And  may  be  skilful  in  dagger  thrusts  and  poison," 
said  Mastino.  "  Nay,  that  is  not  what  I  fear,  Ligozzi." 
But  he  unstrapped  his  sword  and  laid  it  on  the  table 
in  front  of  him.  "  All  the  same,  I  will  have  thee  with 
me,  Ligozzi.  I  see  not  why  I  should  humor  them  too  far 
— I  shall  have  naught  to  say  thou  mayst  not  hear." 

Ligozzi  left,  and  Mastino  sat  alone,  his  head  in  his 
hands,  his  elbows  resting  on  the  table. 

It  was  blazing  hot,  the  very  crown  of  summer,  languid 
,87 


288  THE   VIPER   OF   MILAN 

and  golden,  with  a  haze  of  purple  sky  beating  down  on 
the  swooning  trees ;  noon,  the  sun  at  its  height,  the  still- 
ness of  great  heat  in  the  air. 

Mastino  raised  his  head  and  looked  out  on  it.  What 
was  Gian  Visconti  planning  now? 

He  had  some  faint  foreboding — a  secret  embassy  from 
Milan — and  following  so  swiftly  on  that  last  crushing 
blow;  following  so  swiftly  as  to  come  upon  him  still  help- 
less from  it — what  had  it  to  say,  and  to  his  ears  alone? 
He  had  some  faint  foreboding  as  he  sat  there.  But  it  was 
not  long.  Ligozzi,  exercising  due  precaution,  returned 
with  the  two  Milanese. 

Giannotto  stepped  forward  with  a  smooth  obeisance, 
but  stopped,  a  little  surprised  at  the  one  occupant  of  the 
tent — the  tall  man  with  the  proud  dark  face. 

"  My  lord — the  Prince  ?  "  he  asked. 

"  I  am  Delia  Scala,"  said  Mastino,  and  he  turned  to 
de  Lana  who  looked  an  obvious  soldier,  and  the  worthier 
of  the  two.  "  Your  errand,  sir  ?  I  would  hear  you  quickly." 

"  We  have  greetings  from  our  lord,  the  Duke  of 
Milan,"  replied  de  Lana,  his  speech  and  bearing  uneasy, 
like  one  trying  to  gain  time.  He  had  always  disliked  his 
mission,  and  never  more  so  than  now,  standing  face  to 
face  with  Delia  Scala. 

Here  was  some  one  very  different  from  the  man  he  had 
expected,  and  it  tended  to  confuse  him. 

Delia  Scala's  dignity  was  his  own,  not  that  of  pomp  and 
splendor,  the  terror  of  crime,  or  the  dazzle  of  power,  that 
made  Visconti  feared  and  obeyed.  As  plainly  attired  as 
any  of  his  soldiers,  Mastino  overawed  the  Milanese  with 
something  new  to  them — the  sense  of  worth. 

They  were  not  trained  to  dealings  with  it. 

"  Greetings  from  Gian  Visconti,  Duke  of  Milan,"  took 
up  the  secretary.  "  Moreover,  we  bring  terms  of  peace  for 
your  acceptance,  my  lord." 


THE   ORDEAL  289 

Mastino  was  silent  a  space,  and  Ligozzi,  standing  be- 
hind his  chair,  looked  at  them  with  an  ill-concealed  abom- 
ination that  Giannotto's  quick  eyes  noticed  keenly. 

"  My  lord,  is  the  one  with  you  to  be  trusted  even  as 
yourself?"  he  asked,  submissively.  "For  our  mission, 
Prince,  is  secret." 

"  He  is  my  friend,"  said  Mastino,  shortly.  "  And  now 
these  terms  of  peace  ?  " 

"  The  Duke  is  weary  of  the  war,"  said  de  Lana.  "  He 
hath  powerful  allies,  my  lord." 

"  And  the  choice  of  means  to  crush  me,"  interposed 
Mastino,  his  bright  eyes  fell  on  the  speaker,  "  are  in  his 
hands,  you  would  say  ?  Perhaps ;  and  yet,  messer,  I  ask 
for  no  quarter  from  Gian  Visconti."  De  Lana  bowed. 

"  Nor  could  he  offer  it,  my  noble  lord ;  only  terms  as 
between  equals." 

Mastino  smiled  bitterly. 

"  That  is  generous  in  Gian  Visconti,  seeing  we  are  not 
— equals." 

Giannotto  wished  the  Duke  could  have  heard  both 
words  and  tone.  Visconti's  birth  was  a  sore  point  with 
him.  The  secretary  wondered  if  there  might  be  found  a 
safe  way  of  repeating  them.  De  Lana  flushed  a  little  under 
Mastino's  steady  gaze  and  quiet  scorn  of  the  master  who 
had  sent  him. 

"  The  Duke  of  Milan  sends  by  us  this,"  he  said,  and 
laid  the  parchment  before  Mastino.  "  These  are  his  terms, 
my  lord." 

But  Delia  Scala  did  not  drop  his  eyes  to  it. 

"  What  are  these  terms  ?  "  he  said. 

"  They  are  set  forth  there,  my  lord,"  began  Giannotto. 

"  So  you  have  forgotten  what  they  are,  or  did  Visconti 
not  tell  you  ?  "  and  Delia  Scala  handed  the  roll  to  the 
secretary.  "  When  you  have  read  it,  tell  me  what  Gian 
Visconti  says." 


290  THE   VIPER   OF   MILAN 

He  leaned  back,  his  eyes  still  on  them. 

Giannotto  bit  his  lips  in  vexation. 

"  Spare  Visconti's  loving  greetings.  To  the  point,  in  a 
few  words,"  continued  Delia  Scala,  as  the  secretary  still 
hesitated. 

"  Then,  my  lord,  this :  the  Duke  of  Milan  will  leave  you 
Verona,  where  you  may  rule  under  his  protection,  pro- 
vided you  now  put  into  his  hands  every  other  town  you 
or  your  allies  now,  singly  or  together,  hold." 

Mastino  flushed  and  half  rose. 

"  Gian  Visconti  might  have  spared  these  insults,"  he 
said  sternly,  "  and  you  yourself  the  relating  of  them. 
When  have  I  so  shown  myself  such  that  your  master- 
should  think  I  could  betray  Lombardy  to  keep  one  town  ? 
Get  back,  I  have  no  answer  save  I  have  left  you  your 
lives." 

De  Lana  fingered  the  parchment  nervously. 

"  That  is  not  all,  my  lord,"  he  began,  and  stopped  sud- 
denly. "  I  cannot  say  it,"  he  murmured  to  Giannotto. 

Delia  Scala  beat  his  feet  upon  the  floor  impatiently. 

"  Do  you  think  I  am  afraid  to  hear  ?  "  he  said.  "  Still, 
it  may  be  spared.  I  see,  Gian  Visconti's  spirit  is  not 
peace  but  insult.  On  no  terms  will  I  treat  with  him." 

"  On  no  terms  ?  "  repeated  Giannotto. 

"  On  no  terms  of  insult,"  said  Mastino  coldly.  "  I 
favor  Visconti  too  much  in  listening  so  long.  Leave  me 
and  take  your  lives  back  for  answer." 

"  Better  listen,  perchance,  my  lord,  before  refusing," 
said  Giannotto.  "  It  is  the  Duke's  interest  to  offer  you 
these  terms ;  methinks  it  will  be  no  less  yours  to  at  least 
consider  them." 

De  Lana  stood  silent,  his  eyes  upon  the  ground.  After 
this,  give  him  plain  soldiering. 

"  What  plot  has  Visconti  hatched  now  ?  "  asked  Delia 
Scala.  "  What  more  has  he  to  say  ?  " 


THE   ORDEAL  291 

Giannotto's  pale  eyes  twinkled  unpleasantly. 

"  Only  this :  Visconti  bids  me  tell  Delia  Scala,  Duke  of 
Verona,  that  if  he  refuse  his  terms  we  take  them  instantly 
to  my  Lord  of  Este;  also  he  bids  me  remind  my  Lord 
Delia  Scala  that  he  hold  the  Duchess  of  Verona,  my  lord's 
dear  wife." 

Ligozzi  drew  a  deep  breath  and  looked  at  Delia  Scala ; 
he  had  not  quite  expected  this. 

But  Delia  Scala  rose  with  a  white  face  and  stared  at 
the  two  ambassadors,  incredulous. 

"  Surely  even  Visconti  will  not  use  that  against  me  ?  " 
he  said. 

"  Visconti  must  have  the  towns ;  Visconti  holds  your 
wife.  The  rest  is  for  you  to  reflect  upon,  my  lord:  or, 
since  you  refuse  all  terms,  we  will  take  them  to  my  Lord 
of  Este.  Perhaps  he  will  give  up  the  towns  and  save  his 
daughter."  And  Giannotto  turned  toward  the  entrance. 

"  Stay ! "  cried  Mastino,  in  an  agony.  "  Stay !  your 
terms  again " 

He  dropped  back  into  his  seat  with  wild  eyes  on  Gian- 
notto. All  his  calm  had  fled,  his  pride  was  cowed :  the  sec- 
retary noted  it,  well  pleased,  but  De  Lana  shrank  from 
his  changed  look. 

"  This  is  what  Visconti  offers,  my  lord,"  repeated  the 
secretary  smoothly :  "  Give  up  all  the  cities,  forts,  and 
soldiers  under  your  command,  and  the  Duke  forthwith 
makes  an  honorable  return  to  you  of  the  Duchess  he 
holds  captive,  giving  you  leave  to  hold  Verona  under  fief 
to  him,  doing  yearly  homage  for  it — he  garrisoning  it. 
If,  however,  my  lord,  you  refuse " 

"  If  I  refuse?  "  cried  Delia  Scala,  leaning  forward.  "  If 
I  refuse?  " 

"  Visconti's  prisons  are  unwholesome;  for  some  weeks 
the  Duchess  has  pined;  it  is  feared,  without  instant  lib- 
erty  " 


292  THE   VIPER   OF   MILAN 

Giannotto  paused  a  moment,  and  lightly  shrugged  his 
houlders. 

"  In  a  word,  my  lord,  if  you  refuse — the  Duchess  dies." 

A  terrible  silence  fell,  no  one  moved  or  spoke,  the  lazy 
flapping  of  the  tent  struggling  on  its  cords  was  the  only 
sound.  Delia  Scala  sat  rigid,  looking  at  Giannotto,  all 
power  of  thought  struck  out  of  him. 

"  Shall  we  take  these  terms  to  d'Este — shall  we  offer 
him  his  daughter  for  his  towns?  "  said  Giannotto  softly. 

D'Este!  D'Este  was  not  the  man  to  place  his  daughter 
before  his  states — Mastino  knew  it;  Visconti  knew  it. 

"No!  no!"  he  cried,  with  sudden  vehemence,  "I 
will." 

He  put  his  hand  to  his  forehead  with  a  dazed  expres- 
sion and  whispered  something  to  himself. 

Ligozzi,  standing  erect  behind  his  chair,  touched  him 
gently  on  the  shoulder. 

"  Send  them  away,  my  lord,"  he  whispered.  "  Let 
them  not  remain  here — send  them  away." 

"With  a  refusal?" 

Delia  Scala  lifted  his  white  face.  "With  a  refusal?" 
he  muttered  stupidly. 

"With  what  else?"  said  Giorgio  firmly.  "With  what 
else?" 

Giannotto  moved  a  little  nearer  and  spoke  with  a  sickly 
smile. 

"  Our  answer  may  wait.  The  Duke  of  Milan  gives  a 
day  in  which  my  Lord  of  Verona  may  decide  upon  his 
answer." 

"  Give  them  their  answer  now,"  whispered  Ligozzi, 
eagerly.  "  Do  not  let  them  imagine  for  one  moment  that 
you  hesitate." 

Mastino  did  not  heed  him;  he  sat  as  if  frozen. 

"  Leave  me  to — "  the  words  died  on  his  lips.  "  Leave 
me — to  answer — I  will  give  you  my  answer — anon." 


THE   ORDEAL  293 

De  Lana  and  Giannotto  moved  in  silence  to  the  far  end 
of  the  tent. 

"  Visconti  is  a  fiend,"  said  de  Lana,  with  a  gesture  of 
revolt.  "  Santa  Maria,  I  wish  I  had  never  seen  this  Delia 
Scala.  His  face  will  haunt  me." 

Giannotto  smiled. 

"  Thou  hast  not  been  in  Visconti's  service  long,"  he 
said,  "and  what  have  these  things  to  do  with  us?" 

"  But  this  is  inhuman,"  returned  de  Lana.  "  Delia 
Scala  hath  a  winning  face.  I  might  have  been  a  better 
man  if  I  had  sold  my  sword  to  him." 

"  This  way,  messers,"  said  Ligozzi.  "  I  will  come  to 
you  presently."  And  the  flap  of  the  tent  fell-to  behind 
Visconti's  messengers.  Mastino  sat,  his  head  dropped 
into  his  hands. 

"  My  lord " 

Ligozzi  put  his  hand  upon  his  master's  arm. 

«  My  lord " 

Mastino  raised  his  head  and  looked  at  him;  his  face 
was  distorted,  his  eyes  unnaturally  bright. 

"  Give  them  their  answer,  my  lord,"  said  Ligozzi. 
"  Every  moment  gives  them  a  triumph.  Send  it  now." 

"  Now,"  cried  Mastino,  hoarsely.  "  They  gave  me  till 
to-night — surely,  Ligozzi,  they  gave  me  till  to-night." 

"  Thou  dost  not  need  until  to-night,  my  lord.  Visconti 
asked  thy  honor." 

"  And  offered  me,"  said  Delia  Scala  slowly,  "  Isotta." 

Ligozzi  looked  at  him  horror-struck ;  an  awful  thought 
was  breaking  on  him. 

The  eyes  of  the  two  men  met ;  Ligozzi's  was  steady,  but 
Mastino's  flinched. 

Neither  spoke  for  some  moments,  Ligozzi  at  last  in- 
credulously. 

"You  cannot  mean — to  accept?"  Mastino  was  silent. 
"  Oh,  no,"  cried  Ligozzi,  passionately.  "  You  are  not 


294  THE   VIPER   OF   MILAN 

yourself.  For  the  love  of  Heaven  let  me  go  and  tell  them 
to  depart." 

And  he  started  forward,  but  Mastino  caught  him  by 
the  arm. 

"Stay,  Ligozzi;  I  command  it." 

"  Then  you  yourself  will  tell  them  ?  Oh,  it  is  impos- 
sible that  thou  couldst  fall !  " 

"  Impossible  ?  "  Mastino  rose  with  clenched  hands.  "  I 
think  it  is  impossible  that  I  could  let  her  die." 

Ligozzi  looked  at  his  changed  face. 

"The  cities  are  not  yours,  my  lord;  the  soldiers  are 
not  yours — would  you  be  a  traitor,  Delia  Scala?" 

Mastino  winced. 

"  I  would  save  my  wife,"  he  muttered,  his  face  turned 
aside. 

"Your  wife!  A  woman!"  cried  Ligozzi.  "  Gian  Vis- 
conti  will  burn  in  hell  for  tempting  you,  but,  by  all 
the  saints,  so  will  you,  my  lord,  if  you  accept  such 
terms." 

Mastino  was  roused.  The  energy  of  Ligozzi  broke  the 
bonds  of  his  dull  agony.  He  turned,  also  passionately. 

"  Have  I  not  prayed  and  implored  for  this — only  this — 
her  life  and  her  return?  Have  I  not  sworn  and  vowed  I 
would  recover  her — at  any  cost?  Have  I  not  warned 
them  of  it — and  she  shall  not  die!  She  shall  not  die! 
What  care  I  for  the  cities!  Did  I  not  warn  them?  She 
shall  not  die !  " 

He  fell  to  pacing  the  tent  wildly,  but  Ligozzi  stood  in 
his  place,  bitter  sorrow,  deep  anger  in  his  face. 

"  Think  what  it  means,"  he  said  sternly. 

"  I  will  not,"  cried  Mastino.  "  I  will  be  baited  and 
hounded  no  more.  What  has  their  grudging  help  done 
for  me?  I  tell  thee  I  warned  them,  I  would  hold  them  as 
nothing  when  it  came  to  saving  her." 

"  Still,  they  trust  you,"  returned  Ligozzi.    "  Listen, 


THE    ORDEAL  295 

Delia  Scala;  I  speak  in  the  cause  of  honor — you  shall 
hear,  you  shall  know  what  it  means,  before  you  lend 
yourself  to  such  a  thing  for  love  of  a  woman !  It  will  give 
all  Lombardy  to  Visconti,  it  and  hundreds  to  the  sword; 
it  will  mean  the  burning  of  cities  to  the  ground;  it  will 
mean  the  misery  of  half  Italy!  It  will  give  a  mad  tyrant 
to  rule  over  thousands  who  are  at  present  free — it  will 
send  d'Este  and  Vincenzo  to  prison — to  shame,  misery, 
death  perchance — it  will  strip  Julia  Gonzaga  of  every- 
thing— and  is  she  not  as  young  and  fair  and  good  as 
Isotta  d'Este — and  did  she  not  trust  you  with  her  all? 
And  yourself?  What  will  it  make  of  you?  What  triumph 
will  it  not  give  Visconti  to  see  you  fall?  Have  you  kept 
your  name  high  so  long  to  make  it  a  by-word  now?  Be- 
yond redemption  will  you  be  dishonored,  Delia  Scala — 
an  outcast,  a  traitor — to  hold  a  little  fief  at  Visconti's 
pleasure,  the  mirth  of  your  enemies,  the  scorn  of  your 
one-time  friends.,, 

Mastino  broke  into  a  wild  exclamation.  "  I  will  hear  no 
more!  I  will  hear  no  more!  " 

"  I  must  wound  you  to  save  you,"  continued  Ligozzi. 
"  Against  yourself  I  will  persuade  you ;  my  love  cannot 
see  you  do  this  thing.  Oh,  remember  yourself!  A  man, 
a  prince;  no  hothead  of  a  boy.  This  black  offer  will  be 
the  turning  point  and  strengthen  you.  No  man's  cause 
is  bettered  by  such  means  as  this.  All  Italy  will  rise  to 
cry  shame  on  Visconti — heaven  itself  will  turn  against 
him  and  make  you  firm  to  overthrow  him! " 

"And  Isotta!"  said  Mastino  fiercely.  "Isotta  will  be 
slain!  " 

"  She  is  one  woman — how  many  as  fair  and  good  as  she 
will  perish  if  Delia  Scala  betrays  Lombardy!  She  is  one 
woman  against  the  fate  of  half  Italy." 

"She  is  my  wife!"  cried  Delia  Scala  desperately; 
"that  one  woman  is  my  wife!  Thou  hast  forgotten!  " 


296  THE   VIPER   OF   MILAN 

"  Forget  it  too,  my  lord;  for  your  own  honor's  sake, 
forget  it  too." 

"  Ligozzi,  Ligozzi,"  whispered  Mastino,  "  thou  canst 
not  mean  it:  deliver  up  to  die  by  Visconti's  hands  the 
woman  I — love !  " 

11  If  they  hanged  her  from  the  ramparts  where  I  must 
watch  her  die,  they  should  not  move  me,"  said  Ligozzi 
grimly.  "  But — by  all  the  saints,  I  would  take  my  re- 
venge." 

"Aye!"  said  Delia  Scala  bitterly.  "But  perchance  it 
would  not  be  given  thee  to  take  revenge — perchance 
thou  wouldst  fall  lower  and  lower,  and  be  crushed  after 
all  and  have  gained  nothing!  Ah,  Ligozzi,  is  this  the 
beginning?  Have  I  not  pitted  courage  and  high  purpose, 
and  honorable  dealing  and  a  righteous  cause,  against 
craft  and  cruelty  and  force?  And  to  what  end?  Visconti 
triumphs.  Always  Visconti!  What  availed  honor  and 
faith  when  Visconti's  cunning  and  Count  Conrad's  folly 
made  the  plans  of  weeks  naught!  Again, undaunted,  I  said 
I  will  succeed  in  the  face  of  failure,  I  will  succeed!  What 
happened?  Visconti  had  a  handsome  face;  what  mat- 
tered it  his  cause  was  bad?  Again  we  failed!  And  what 
since!  Half  my  men  are  dead  against  the  walls  of  Milan! 
And  now,  am  I  to  choose  again  what  thou  callest  honor, 
am  I  to  leave  Isotta  to  die  by  his  dishonoring  hands — 
oh,  canst  thou  think  of  it! — and  then  be  crushed  at  his 
leisure  for  all  my  reward?  Am  I  so  tied  by  tradition  as 
that?  Does  not  Visconti  fling  all  laws,  all  humanity,  all 
honor  to  the  winds — can  I  fight  him  within  the  bounds 
of  a  boy's  code  of  honor?  The  time  comes,  Ligozzi,  when 
such  things  hold  one  no  longer — the  soul  thrusts  them 
asunder  and  does  what  it  must,  regardless  of  the  laws 
of  men!  I  must  save  her.  Here  is  my  chance  and,  fair  or 
foul,  I  take  it.  I  cannot  think  of  the  welfare  of  unknown 
thousands ;  what  are  they  to  me  ?  Cities  pass  under  Vis- 


THE    ORDEAL  297 

conti's  rule  and  cities  are  snatched  from  him — am  I  re- 
sponsible for  the  fate  of  Lombardy?  Men  fight,  betray, 
deceive  and  lie  for  wealth,  ambition,  and  revenge — and 
common  folk  pay  the  price — shall  I  consider  it  too  closely 
if  they  suffer  once  in  a  cause  like  mine?  I  tell  thee,  Li- 
gozzi,  I  would  hold  it  cheap  to  save  her  from  Visconti 
with  the  misery  of  all  Italy." 

Ligozzi's  eyes  did  not  move  from  Delia  Scala's  face. 

"  Thou  art  striving  to  blind  thyself,  Delia  Scala.  Oh, 
my  lord,"  he  resumed,  "  because  others  are  dishonorable 
will  ye  be  so  also?  And  what  do  ye  say  of  common  folk? — 
not  common  folk  alone  will  ye  sacrifice,  but  d'Este " 

"  He  has  helped  me  half-heartedly — and  is  she  not  his 
daughter?  Yet  at  a  word  from  Visconti  he  would  league 
with  him  behind  my  back,"  cried  Delia  Scala. 

"  I  do  not  think  so,"  said  Ligozzi,  firmly.  V  But  Julia 
Gonzaga,  who  trusted  you — what  have  you  to  say  to 
her?  " 

"  Naught!  "  cried  Mastino,  distracted.  "  Naught!  save 
that  I  do  not  love  her — let  he  who  does  look  to  her — as  I 
will  to  Isotta!" 

"And  she! "  said  Ligozzi,  resorting  desperately  to  his 
last  argument,  "  will  she  not  turn  from  the  liberty  bought 
at  such  a  price?  Is  she  not  the  daughter  of  a  noble  house  ? 
Has  she  not  been  taught  to  consider  death  preferable 
to  dishonor — if  she  was  asked,  what  would  she  not 
choose?"  • 

Mastino's  breast  heaved. 

"  Ah — but  I  cannot  ask  her.  If  I  could — Ligozzi,  if  I 
could  go  to  her  and  look  into  her  eyes,  and  say  '  I  prom- 
ised, give  me  back  my  promise,  for  only  on  terms  thou 
wouldst  spurn  can  I  save  thee,'  she  would  understand — 
she  would  die  with  a  smile,  as  I  should — and  that  I  could 
do.  But  to  let  her  die  a  slow  death — a  dishonored  death ! 
Wilt  thou  remember  it  is  Visconti!  His  lies  in  her  ears — 


298  THE   VIPER   OF   MILAN 

knowing  nothing  of  my  struggles !  thinking  herself  for- 
saken, yet  hoping  against  hope,  and  ever  coming  to  her 
belief  I  would  not  let  it  be,  till  one  day  it  was!  Ah!  I 
cannot  do  it!  I  cannot  do  it!" 

He  threw  himself  on  the  chair  again  and  hid  his  face. 
"  She  loves  me,"  he  said  brokenly.  "  It  seems  strange, 
Ligozzi — that  she  should — care — for  me.  God  knows,  I 
have  no  charm  such  as  Visconti  has.  I  cannot  please,  I 
am  clumsy  and  uncouth  compared  to  those  she  had 
around  her — and  yet  she  chose  me.  '  While  thou  art  alive 
I  fear  nothing/  were  the  last  words  I  heard  her  say,  and 
I  shall  leave  her  to  curse  the  day  she  met  and  trusted 
me  to  save  her  from  a  villain.  What  commonest  foot  sol- 
dier I  have  would  leave  the  woman  that  he  loves  to  die 
Visconti's  way?  Ah,  Heaven  have  mercy!  For  what  crime 
is  this  a  punishment!  " 

"Then  you  will  accept  these  terms  for  her  release?" 
said  Ligozzi.  "  I  will  plead  with  you  no  more,  my  lord — 
only,  if  you  do  this  thing,  I,  who  am  your  faithful  serv- 
ant, I,  who  ever  loved  and  worshiped  you,  can  serve  you 
no  longer — it  is  too  terrible  a  thing — I  cannot  stay  and 
see  it  done! " 

Mastino's  head  was  bent  forward,  his  hands  clenched 
so  tightly  that  the  flesh  was  broken,  his  whole  attitude 
so  hopeless  in  its  agony  that  Ligozzi  feared  for  his  reason. 

"  Oh,  my  lord!  "  he  cried  passionately,  and  flung  him- 
self on  his  knees  by  Mastino's  side.  "  Oh,  my  dear,  dear 
lord!  Thou  wilt  choose  the  noble  part,  I  know!  Thou 
wilt  not  let  Visconti  triumph,  for  this  is  all  a  devilish  plot 
to  make  thee  dishonored,  to  make  thee  betray  thy  trust 
— foil  him — say  no !  " 

Mastino  made  no  answer,  and  Ligozzi  too  lapsed  into 
silence,  rising  from  his  knees  softly.  .  .  . 

How  hot  it  was,  how  hot!  Ligozzi  felt  dizzy — he 
wished  the  sun  would  cease  blazing  down — he  wished 


THE   ORDEAL  299 

Delia  Scala  would  move — had  he  persuaded  him?  Mas- 
tino  raised  his  head. 

"  Bring  them  back,"  he  said  slowly,  "  I  will  see  them 
now." 

Ligozzi's  heart  beat  high.  "  He  has  won — over  himself 
at  least  he  has  a  victory! "  he  thought — but  looking  on 
Delia  Scala's  haggard  face,  he  ventured  no  speech. 

Mastino  sat  erect — his  hands  on  the  table  in  front  of 
him,  his  eyes  on  the  floor.  Visconti's  envoys  entered. 

Giannotto,  glancing  at  Mastino  and  then  at  Ligozzi 
keenly,  saw  that  there  Visconti  had  an  adverse  advocate. 
But  the  strained  silence  on  them  all  was  hard  to  break. 
They  were  uneasy,  like  men  before  a  great  grief,  or  in  the 
presence  of  one  about  to  die — it  was  difficult  to  treat  the 
matter  as  an  ordinary  one,  or  to  ask  a  decision  from  that 
tortured  man  before  them. 

Even  Giannotto's  heart  failed  him,  and  he  stayed  near 
the  entrance,  abashed  and  afraid,  but  with  a  fear  different 
from  that  with  which  he  fawned  upon  Visconti.  Viscon- 
ti's moods  and  motives  he  could  understand — to  some 
extent  they  were  his  own,  on  his  own  level, — but  this 
man — some  things  were  beyond  the  Duke  of  Milan's 
secretary,  and  for  the  first  time  in  his  life  he  felt  it. 
Mastino  himself  broke  that  hideous  silence.  He  raised  his 
head,  and  with  a  little  affectionate  movement  Ligozzi 
laid  his  hand  on  his  master's  arm  as  if  to  strengthen 
him. 

"  I  have  considered,"  said  Delia  Scala,  in  a  hard  voice. 
He  paused  a  moment,  but  a  moment  only.  "  I  have  con- 
sidered, and  my  answer  is :  I  will  accept  Visconti's  terms 
— my  wife  against  the  towns." 

"Oh,  dear  lord!"  breathed  Ligozzi.  It  was  the  only 
sound;  the  Milanese  were  silent,  almost  as  if  they  too 
winced  to  hear  the  words. 

Mastino  rose,  with  defiance  in  his  burning  eyes. 


3oo  THE   VIPER   OF   MILAN 

"  I  accept — every  city  in  my  hands,  every  soldier — all 
— against  my  wife — I  accept  Visconti's  terms." 

Ligozzi's  hand  had  dropped  from  his  shoulder,  the  clink 
of  metal  was  heard  through  the  heavy  silence,  without 
a  word  he  stepped  forward  and  laid  his  sword  on  the 
table  before  the  Prince,  then  turned  toward  the  entrance. 

"Ligozzi!"  cried  Mastino,  incredulous.  "Not  thou, 
Ligozzi — not  thou,  my  friend !  " 

He  held  out  his  hand  imploringly,  regardless  of  the 
eyes  upon  him.  Ligozzi  stopped  and  turned,  answering 
Delia  Scala's  wistful  look  by  one  of  bitter  scorn  and  pain. 

"  I  had  that  sword  from  an  honorable  Prince — I  go  to 
weep  that  I  should  have  to  return  it  to  a  traitor!  " 

"Ligozzi!"  Mastino  staggered  back,  his  extended, 
rejected  hand  fell  against  his  side.  "  Thou  might'st  have 
spared  me  that  before  these — for  the  sake  of  the  old  days 
— Ligozzi — "  he  said,  steadying  himself.  Ligozzi  did 
not  turn;  with  a  hard  face  he  walked  across  the  tent — 
without  a  look  back,  without  a  word  or  a  sign,  he  was 
gone. 

Mastino  watched  his  only  friend  depart,  with  straining 
eyes,  that  then  he  covered  for  a  moment  as  if  to  shut  out 
what  they  had  seen.  But  the  next  moment  he  turned 
proudly  to  the  messengers. 

Giannotto  was  alone.  The  soldier,  de  Lana,  had  van- 
ished. 

Mastino  started  forward  with  a  cry,  but  the  secretary 
interposed:  "My  lord,"  he  said  smoothly,  "our  duty  is 
our  duty.  There  is  no  harm  intended,  there  shall  no  harm 
be  done;  but  of  what  value  is  your  consent  to  my  Lord 
Visconti's  terms,  if  your  friend  should  speak  of  it?  " 

Mastino  fell  back.  A  swift  beginning. 

"  Your  lady's  safety,  my  lord,"  said  Giannotto,  "  de- 
pends on  your  friend's  silence.  He  has  left  his  sword. 
There  will  be  no  bloodshed." 


THE   ORDEAL  301 

There  was  a  silence,  then  Mastino  looked  up  and  spoke 
hoarsely. 

"Begone!  and  take  my  answer  to  Visconti.  I  accept 
and  will  carry  out  his  terms;  my  wife  against  the  towns." 

"  Only  remember,  my  lord,"  and  the  secretary 
smoothed  his  hands  together  nervously,  "  any  attempt  on 
Milan,  any  movement  on  your  part,  and  the  offer  is  null 
and  void  and  the  Duchess  dies." 

"  Begone!  "  screamed  Mastino,  "  take  my  answer  and 
begone!  " 

Giannotto  turned  and  went  softly  out  of  the  tent. 

It  was  done — it  was  done — beyond  redemption  had  he 
fallen;  he  had  chosen — there  was  no  turning  back. 

Mastino  della  Scala  sat  alone  and  stared  in  the  face  of 
what  he  had  done.  These  few  moments  were  his;  then 
he  must  go  and  lie  to  his  officers,  deceive  his  men, 
weaken  his  towns,  destroy  his  forts — prepare  to  place 
them  in  Visconti's  hands.  He  must  send  false  messages 
to  the  Estes  and  to  Julia  Gonzaga — lie  and  deceive  and 
betray!  But  he  had  saved  his  wife  from  Visconti — his 
wife — Isotta. 

Outside  he  heard  familiar  voices,  officers  and  men ;  his 
Veronese,  still  glad  to  trust  his  leadership;  and  he  was 
to  betray  and  trick  them  into  shame. 

"  Can  I  carry  it  through,  can  I  go  forth  with  a  calm 
face  and  lie  to  them — my  soldiers !  "  he  cried  in  agony. 
"  But  her  life — her  dear  life — her  more  than  life — hangs 
upon  my  falsity! " 

He  thought  of  the  beautiful  free  towns  of  Italy:  his 
Verona  he  had  rescued  once;  proud  Ferrara;  Mantua 
that  had  never  felt  any  yoke  but  that  of  the  Gonzaga's; 
Pavia;  all  the  haughty  fair  towns  that  had  scorned  Vis- 
conti. What  would  Visconti's  vengeance  on  them  be? 
Mastino  could  hardly  believe  he  had  done  this  thing.  Yet 


3o2  THE   VIPER   OF   MILAN 

were  the  choice  given  again,  he  would  choose  the  same 
— he  would  choose  the  same! 

The  sultry  breeze  blew  back  the  opening,  showing  the 
deep  blue  sky  and  near-lying  tents ;  a  company  of  soldiers 
galloped  by  carrying  the  standard  of  Verona — the  ladder 
of  the  Scaligeri. 

How  soon  would  that  banner  be  torn  from  the  walls 
of  Verona  and  the  Viper  take  its  place? 

"  My  city! "  cried  Mastino,  "  my  city!  "  and  his  head 
sank  forward  on  his  out-thrown  arms,  while  his  shoulders 
heaved  with  sobs. 


CHAPTER   THIRTY 

THE   WEDDING 

SEVEN  days  had  passed. 

In  Milan  there  was  much  rejoicing,  in  its  streets  and 
palaces  much  splendor;  it  was  the  Lady  Valentine's  wed- 
ding day. 

Among  the  throng  outside  the  church  of  San'  Apolli- 
nare,  the  eager  crowd  that  fought  and  battled  for  a  better 
chance  of  seeing  the  splendid  procession,  was  a  monk, 
seemingly  a  wandering  friar,  who  pressed  his  face  against 
the  cold  marble  walls  in  the  silent  vexation  of  an  utter 
disappointment.  It  was  Conrad. 

He  had  failed  in  his  mad  mission ;  success  from  the  first 
had  been  hopeless ;  he  had  not  redeemed  himself.  He  had 
not  helped  Delia  Scala,  he  had  not  rescued  Valentine — 
he  had  failed. 

A  dozen  different  plans  had  been  formed — equally 
futile  and  impossible  to  carry  out.  Who  could  outwit 
Visconti  in  his  own  city?  Bitterly  Conrad  regretted  the 
false  hopes  conveyed  in  that  whisper  in  this  very  church. 
Perhaps  she  had  trusted  to  them,  and  here  was  her  wed- 
ding day  and  he  was  standing  outside  helpless! 

He  knew  it  pure  folly,  this  risking  his  life  for  nothing, 
and  what  had  brought  him  there  he  could  scarcely  tell; 
but  under  his  monk's  habit  he  had  a  concealed  dagger. 

He  felt  desperate,  wounded  badly  in  both  heart  and 
pride.  It  was  not  so  much  for  love  of  Valentine  Visconti 
— that  had  ever  been  more  fancy  than  aught  else — it  was 

3<>3 


3o4  THE   VIPER   OF   MILAN 

the  sense  of  failure — of  self-humiliation ;  a  bitter  sense  of 
how  Visconti  laughed  at  him.  Far  better  a  fine,  romantic 
death  than  disgrace  one  side,  defeat  the  other.  In  fact 
a  fine,  romantic  death  in  a  lady's  cause  would  be  decidedly 
gratifying.  With  this  new  thought  of  it  struggling  in  his 
mind,  Count  Conrad  suddenly  turned  from  the  wall  and 
forced  lustily  through  the  crowd  to  the  church  steps. 

He  was  there  none  too  soon.  A  sudden  wild  shout 
from  the  crowd,  a  movement  of  the  soldiers  keeping 
guard,  told  him  they  were  leaving  the  church.  The  push- 
ing, struggling  people  were  well  kept  back  by  the  stout 
halberds;  but  Conrad,  partly  by  virtue  of  his  dress,  but 
rather  by  the  strength  of  his  squared  arms,  managed  to 
force  to  the  front,  where  he  stood  close  behind  the  stal- 
wart figure  of  a  German  mercenary. 

Conrad  glanced  at  the  blond  hair  and  mild  blue  eyes. 
"  Friend,"  he  whispered  in  German,  leaning  forward, 
"  have  consideration  for  a  German  father  who  will  say 
many  prayers  for  thee — in  his  native  tongue." 

The  soldier  turned. 

"  Quick,"  said  Conrad,  "  a  place  next  thee,  my  friend." 

The  soldier  smiled  at  the  friar's  curiosity,  and  allowed 
him  vantage;  and  Conrad,  stationed  near  the  foot  of  the 
steps,  looked  up  them  eagerly  to  the  brilliant  group  issu- 
ing from  the  church  doors. 

His  roving  eyes  sought  out  Gian  Visconti.  It  was  only 
four  months  since  he  had  seen  him,  talked  to  him  freely, 
face  to  face,  his  friend  and  favorite,  but  it  seemed  years. 
Visconti  had  grown  in  greatness  since  then,  and  Conrad, 
when  his  gaze  caught  the  once  familiar  figure,  felt  far 
away  from  knowledge  of  him. 

Visconti  was  standing,  his  cap  in  his  hand,  surveying 
the  crowd.  He  looked  much  older,  Conrad  thought,  his 
face  was  dark  and  somber,  hardly  like  the  face  of  a  man 
at  the  summit  of  his  ambition.  He  came  down  the  steps 


THE   WEDDING  305 

slowly,  on  one  side  his  sister,  her  bridegroom  on  the 
other,  and  taking  no  further  notice  of  the  shouting  peo- 
ple, gazed  down  moodily. 

Conrad  hardly  looked  at  Valentine,  whiter  than  her 
white  dress,  gazing  vacantly  before  her;  he  did  not  no- 
tice the  utter  change  from  her  former  brilliancy,  he  had 
no  eyes  for  the  overdressed,  foppish  bridegroom — he  was 
looking  at  Visconti. 

The  steps  were  thickly  strewn  with  flowers;  the  train 
of  lords  and  ladies  was  one  blaze  of  color  and  gems,  still 
flowing  from  the  church  as  Visconti  came  to  within  three 
steps  of  the  Count,  and  Conrad  sprang  forward  before 
the  startled  soldier  could  throw  out  a  hand. 

Visconti  stopped,  and  the  procession  behind  him,  ar- 
rested, stood  a  flaming  band  of  movement  and  color. 
Conrad  threw  back  his  hood  with  a  sweeping  gesture, 
thrilled  by  the  excitement  of  the  moment  to  dare  any- 
thing. What  his  motive  he  could  not  have  told,  but  it  was 
a  fine  moment.  He  caught  one  glimpse  of  Valentine's 
suddenly  illumined  face,  and  drew  the  dagger. 

"  Another  wedding  gift ! "  he  cried  in  ringing  tones, 
and  struck  Visconti  full  upon  the  breast. 

Then  an  utter  confusion  fell  upon  Count  Conrad.  He 
was  seized  and  pinioned  tight  amid  wild  yells,  while  the 
dagger,  glancing  off  the  armor  beneath  the  soft  rose- 
colored  velvet,  fell  on  the  steps  unheeded. 

"  Count  Conrad  ?  "  said  Visconti  clearly  through  the 
babble  of  voices.  "  Conrad  von  Schulembourg?  " 

"  Aye,"  said  Conrad  wildly,  struggling  between  the  two 
soldiers  who  held  him.  "  Complete  your  triumph,  Vis- 
conti. I  would  have  killed  you;  kill  me — kill  me!  You 
tried  before  and  failed.  I  have  tried  and  I  fail.  End  it." 

He  would  have  added  more  defiances,  but  the  soldiers 
hauled  him  roughly  back,  and  choked  the  words  back  into 
his  throat. 


3o6  THE   VIPER   OF   MILAN 

"  Count  Conrad  ?  "  asked  Valentine,  in  a  clear  tone. 
"  Did  he  say  Count  Conrad?  " 

Visconti  motioned  to  d'Orleans. 

"  Take  the  Duchess  on,  my  lord.  I  will  remain  and  deal 
with  this  crazy  friar." 

"  Surely  he  needs  but  little  dealing  with !  "  said  the 
Frenchman.  "  An  assassin !  there  is  the  gallows  ready !  " 

"  There  is  also  your  wedding  procession  waiting,"  re- 
turned Visconti  quietly,  and  he  motioned  the  train  on- 
ward, and  Conrad  forward,  the  eager  people  in  the  street 
all  straining  every  nerve  to  know  what  might  have  hap- 
pened ;  appeased  by  the  oncoming  train,  they  gave  only 
half  a  thought  to  the  little  knot  pressed  round  the  steps, 
and  what  the  Duke  had  paused  for. 

Conrad  stood  between  his  guards,  with  a  flushed  face 
and  a  proud  bearing.  He  would  have  liked  to  kiss  his 
hand  to  Valentine,  stepping  into  her  gorgeous  litter, 
looking  back  with  half-awakened  eyes;  but  his  hands 
were  held  firmly,  and  his  feet  lashed  together. 

"  Well,  Visconti,"  he  said,  with  a  still  higher  carriage 
of  his  head,  "  what  is  it  this  time — starvation  or  the 
rack?" 

Visconti  made  no  answer:  he  was  looking  down  at  the 
flowers  on  the  steps. 

"  Take  those  away,"  he  said  to  a  page,  and  pointed  to  a 
spray  of  white  roses. 

The  boy  obeyed,  and  glanced  at  his  companions,  won- 
dering. 

"Saint  Hubert!"  cried  Conrad,  with  a  sudden  laugh. 
"  You  are  full  of  whims  as  of  old !  How  long  must  I  wait 
for  my  death,  at  your  good  pleasure,  my  lord?  " 

The  Duke  turned  his  eyes  on  him. 

"  You  are  strangely  foolish,"  he  said,  and  hesitated, 
looking  at  Conrad  with  a  moody  face. 

"  Foolish   indeed,    or   I    had    never   been    Visconti's 


THE  WEDDING-  >? 

friend !"  retorted  Conrad.  "Foolish — or  I  had  never 
trusted  to  this  friendship.  But  call  me  also  bold,  my  lord, 
to  be  here  now,  buying  with  my  life  the  pleasure  of  say- 
ing so! " 

"  The  impudent  German ! "  murmured  a  lady  in  Vis- 
conti's  ear.  "  Heaven  has  given  your  lordship  even  this 
— to  crown  your  perfect  triumph." 

The  Duke  was  still  silent:  he  looked  from  Conrad  to 
the  crowd,  shouting,  throwing  up  their  hats  to  see  the 
procession  pass,  and  then  to  the  soldiers,  wondering  at 
this  strange  hesitation. 

"  Why  did  you  come  to  Milan?  "  he  asked  at  last,  fin- 
gering the  gold  tassels  on  his  sleeve,  and  speaking 
slowly. 

"  To  save  your  unhappy  sister,"  cried  Conrad.  "  To  try 
and  kill  you,  Visconti!  "  And  he  struggled  fiercely  in  the 
grip  of  his  captors. 

"  Take  him  away,"  said  Visconti.  "  Take  him "  He 

paused  a  moment. 

"  To  the  gibbet,  my  lord?" 

"  No— outside  the  gates.  Give  him  a  safe-conduct  that 
will  take  him  out  of  my  soldiers'  lines.  And  so  farewell, 
Count  Conrad ;  I  can  waste  no  more  time  on  you." 

"I  will  not  go!"  shrieked  Conrad  furiously.  "I  will 
not  have  your  mercy,  Visconti — I  will  not  accept  from 
you  my  life!  " 

Visconti  passed  on. 

"  I  say  I  will  die!  "  cried  Conrad  after  him.  "  Do  you 
quail  at  another  murder,  Visconti?  Dare  you  not  kill  one 
more?  " 

The  Duke  looked  back  at  him. 

"  I  owe  you  somewhat,  Count.  You  may  remember  a 
certain  game  of  chess  you  played  in  Delia  Scala's  camp. 
It  served  me  well — it  saved  my  life — and  gave  me — Delia 
Scala.  Now  take  yours — as  a  most  unequal  recompense." 


3o8  THE   VIPER   OF   MILAN 

He  smiled  most  unpleasantly,  and  Conrad  was  silent, 
struck,  chilled. 

"  Put  him  outside  the  gates,"  continued  Visconti ;  "  and 
give  him  money  for  his  journey.  Maybe  he  left  Delia 
Scala  too  hastily  to  bear  much  away;  maybe  Delia  Scala 
did  not  in  any  case  pay  well;  and  we  would  not  have 
the  noble  Count  beg  his  way  to  Germany." 

"  Visconti "  Conrad  choked  on  the  word.  "  Vis- 
conti  " 

"  I  will  spare  thy  thanks,"  smiled  the  Duke.  "  Fare- 
well." 

"  Give  me  a  dagger — some  one !  "  yelled  Conrad. 
"  That  villain  shall  see  I  do  not  live  to  profit  by  his  scorn. 
Give  me  a  dagger — I — you  truckling  knaves !  you  shave- 
ling cowards ! " 

"  When  your  blood  is  a  little  cooler,"  said  the  soldier 
calmly,  tying  his  hands  the  tighter,  "  you'll  be  giving  us 
a  ducat  apiece  for  not  taking  you  at  your  word." 

"  Silence,  churl!  I  will  not  leave  Milan;  I  will  not  be 
put  outside  the  gates!  " 

"  Just  whatever  the  Duke  says,  messer,  you'll  do — just 
whatever  the  Duke  says;  and  thank  your  guardian  saint 
he  was  not  himself  to-day,  or  you'd  have  had  your  death 
— but  not  quite  so  pleasant  as  you  seem  to  think  it." 

And  for  all  he  could  shriek  and  threaten  and  pray, 
struggle  and  fight,  Count  Conrad  was  escorted  through 
the  crowded  streets,  between  soldiers  with  immovable 
faces,  and  amid  a  crowd  that  laughed  in  huge  enjoyment 
of  his  angry  threats  and  bitter  entreaties.  A  good  mile 
outside  the  gates  they  led  him,  a  fine  rabble  at  his  heels. 
And  then  they  left  him,  with  a  good  horse,  a  sword,  and 
a  bag  of  ducats. 

"  Now,  Count,  take  those  and  ride  to  Germany — or  if 
you  must  die,  try  and  get  back  into  Milan."  And  they 
rode  away,  laughing  heartily. 


THE   WEDDING  309 

Count  Conrad  seated  himself  on  the  roadside,  and  was 
silent  a  long  while.  Then  he  rose,  and  rubbed  his  stiff 
arms,  bruised  by  the  soldiers'  grip,  looked  back  toward 
Milan, looked  at  the  horse  and  sword,  gave  one  sigh  to  the 
past,  mounted  and  rode  away  out  of  the  shadow  of  Milan 
toward  Novara,  the  first  town  on  the  route  to  Germany. 

There  was  a  great  coming  and  going  of  brilliant  com- 
pany in  the  Visconti  palace,  a  constant  spurring  of  horses 
through  its  gates,  the  riding  in  of  messengers  and  sol- 
diers, the  riding  out  of  officers  and  nobles. 

The  Duke  d'Orleans  and  his  wife  had  left  for  France, 
with  a  splendid  cavalcade  of  knights  and  ladies,  escorted 
by  the  flower  and  the  chivalry  of  Milan. 

All  Valentine's  struggles  and  proud  resistance  and 
scorn  had  come  to  this:  she  left  for  France,  as  Visconti 
had  ever  said  she  should — left  Milan  dull  to  craziness, 
forgetful,  with  no  sign  of  either  joy  or  regret. 

Visconti  thought  of  this  consummation  with  some  sat- 
isfaction, then  banished  his  sister  from  his  mind.  There 
were  other  matters  more  important  to  Visconti  than 
the  subdual  of  his  sister — of  Mastino  della  Scala  and  his 
wife  for  one. 

Mastino  had  kept  his  pact:  in  one  week,  Pavia,  Tre- 
viso,  Cremona,.  Vincenza,  and  Verona  had  fallen;  com- 
pany after  company  of  Mastino's  soldiers  had  passed  into 
the  hands  of  the  Milanese.  Modena  and  Ferrara  were 
left,  but  so  weakened  that  a  few  days  must  see  their  end, 
though  the  deserted  garrisons  were  fighting  desperately, 
and  sending  wild  messages  to  Della  Scala,  imploring  aid. 

Julia  Gonzaga  in  Mantua  was  sore  beset.  At  an  urgent 
appeal  from  Mastino,  almost  every  trained  man  holding 
the  city  had  been  sent  to  his  assistance,  to  find  them- 
selves surrounded  and  cut  to  pieces  by  the  Milanese,  and 
Mantua  left  defenceless. 


3io  THE   VIPER   OF   MILAN 

In  Novara  the  Estes  were  shut  up,  waiting  anxiously 
for  news  from  Mastino — waiting  in  vain. 

Isotta  d'Este  had  been  removed  from  Milan,  and  was 
lodged  in  a  strong  fort  some  miles  outside  Brescia, 
guarded  still  by  Visconti's  soldiers,  but  also  by  some  of 
Delia  Scala's  trusted  but  still  unwitting  Veronese — men 
who  kept  watch  over  her  night  and  day,  inspected  all  she 
ate,  and  allowed  no  emissary  from  Visconti  to  see  her 
alone. 

Such  were  the  terms. 

The  thing  had  been  done  secretly.  Vague  rumors  that 
the  Duchess's  release  was  being  negotiated  were  the  ut- 
most that  got  abroad.  The  soldiers  guarding  her  for 
Mastino  thought  the  privilege  bought,  or  that  the  Em- 
peror had  wrung  it  from  Visconti.  There  were  none  who 
suspected  the  truth.  Though  for  those  ten  days  had  been 
disaster  on  disaster,  though  town  after  town  had  fallen, 
squadron  after  squadron  been  ambushed,  and  though 
some  whispered  treachery  and  pointed  to  this  captain  and 
to  that,  none  thought  of  staining  the  loftiest  name  in 
Lombardy  with  even  a  doubt — Mastino  della  Scala,  the 
son  of  Can'  Gran'  della  Scala,  of  a  race  that  had  never 
lied  or  betrayed,  the  one  race  in  Lombardy  of  a  lofty 
honor.  Men  would  have  as  soon  thought  the  stars  would 
fall  as  Mastino  della  Scala. 

Visconti,  pacing  his  palace  in  a  fever  of  triumph, 
thought  of  all  this ;  thought  of  the  d'Estes  in  Novara,  still 
trusting — thought  of  Mastino's  Veronese,  their  devotion, 
their  sympathy — thought  of  Mastino's  feelings.  It  was 
almost  enough  to  satisfy  his  hate — but  not  quite — not 
quite. 

"  To-morrow,"  he  said,  stopping  before  de  Lana — 
"to-morrow  I  shall  march  from  Milan,  and  I  shall  lay 
in  ashes  every  village,  every  town  that  has  favored  Delia 
Scala.  I  will  let  loose  my  soldiers  to  pay  themselves  from 


THE   WEDDING  311 

the  wealth  of  Lombardy,  and  I  will  makes  the  Estes  take 
their  proud  banner  down  from  the  walls  of  Novara,  and 
hoist  with  their  own  hands  the  Viper !  " 

"  Mastino  della  Scala  lies  at  Brescia/'  said  de  Lana, 
with  an  uplifting  of  his  dark  eyes.  "  His  army  has 
dwindled  almost  to  a  handful  v,f  picked  Veronese;  so  a 
deserter  who  rode  in  tells  me.  He  waits  there  for  his 
wife." 

"  And  I,"  said  Visconti,  leaning  against  the  table, 
"  have  given  orders  she  is  to  be  sent,  de  Lana.  He  has 
kept  his  word;  I  will  keep  mine.  He  has  paid  dearly 
enough — he  shall  have  his  wife.  And  to-morrow  I  march 
on  Novara." 

"  I  have  my  orders,  my  lord." 

"  I  have  nothing  more  to  say,  de  Lana.  To-morrow  we 
leave  Milan." 

The  captain  was  turning  in  silence,  when  Visconti 
spoke  again. 

"  Della  Scala  is  at  Brescia,  ye  say  ?  Then  his  wife  will 
reach  him  to-morrow  about  the  time  we  reach  Novara." 
He  paused  and  looked  at  de  Lana  steadily.  "  I  have  sent 
orders  for  her  release  and  forwarding  in  all  due  privacy, 
but  with  sufficient  state,  and  I  have  sent  her  back  her 
wedding  ring." 

De  Lana  only  half  understood  him,  but  Visconti  had 
small  care  for  that. 

"  The  Estes — in  Novara,  de  Lana — they  are  unsus- 
pecting? " 

"  How  can  they  be  otherwise,  my  lord  ?  they  are 
isolated " 

"  Waiting  for  succors  from  Della  Scala  doubtless ! 
How  many  could  their  numbers  be?" 

"  Some  thousand — no  more.  Delia  Scala  called  his 
Veronese  out,  my  lord." 

"  Twill  be  almost  too  easy  a  victory,"  said  Visconti, 


3i2  THE   VIPER    OF   MILAN 

smiling.  "  And  then,  from  Piedmont  to  the  Apennines, 
Italy  will  be  under  my  rule :  and  Delia  Scala — I  wonder 
what  will  happen  to  Delia  Scala,  de  Lana?  " 

"  There  is  nothing  but  death  for  Delia  Scala,"  returned 
the  soldier,  standing  at  the  door  as  if  anxious  to  be  gone. 
"  Nothing  is  left  for  him  but  that,  my  lord." 

"  Ah — you  forget,"  said  Visconti  softly.  "  There  is  his 
price — his  wife ;  there  is  always  his  wife."  And  repeating 
the  words,  as  if  to  himself,  Visconti  motioned  de  Lana 
away,  and  entered  the  inner  room. 

Giannotto  was  looking  out  of  the  window,  and  at  Vis- 
conti's  sudden  entrance  turned  with  a  start. 

"  Giannotto,"  said  the  Duke  smoothly,  "  you  will  come 
with  me  on  the  march  to-morrow — not  for  love  of  your 
company,  my  friend,  but  because  I  do  not  trust  you. 
Still,  I  keep  you." 

"  There  is  now  no  Lady  Valentine  to  outwit  me  in  your 
absence  with  some  of  her  brother's  skill,  my  lord,"  replied 
the  secretary  meekly. 

Visconti  made  no  reply,  but  viewed  the  secretary 
sullenly.  His  words  had  brought  up  unpleasant  memo- 
ries: his  palace  was  free  of  his  rebel  sister,  but  it  was 
free  also  of  another  one  who  should  have  been  his 
wife. 

All  his  brilliant,  his  magical  successes  could  not  quite 
obliterate  the  sting  of  that  one  failure.  Graziosa's  name 
was  a  forbidden  one;  the  splendid  dwelling  where  she 
had  shone  so  brief  a  while,  shut  to  moulder.  She  was  a 
thing  of  the  past,  though  only  ten  days  dead;  but  Vis- 
conti could  not  quite  forget. 

She  had  been  buried  quietly,  in  the  same  church  as  her 
father,  at  dead  of  night,  with  no  mourners.  And  was  she 
not  gone — forgotten?  Yet,  disguise  it  as  he  might,  it 
was  failure. 

"  Yet  she  loved  me,"  thought  Visconti ;  and  it  roused 


THE   WEDDING  313 

his  wrath  that  he  must  think  of  her — the  house  by  the 
western  gate — the  sweet  face,  the  white  roses. 

"  Giannotto,"  he  said  moodily,  "  had  she  lived,  I  would 
not  have  done  it — on  my  soul  I  would  not  have  done  it !  " 

"  Done  what,  my  lord  ?  "  asked  the  startled  secretary, 
looking  up  at  his  dark,  musing  face. 

"  Ah,  I  forgot,"  said  Visconti.  "  You  do  not  know." 


CHAPTER   THIRTY-ONE 

THE    PRIDE   OF   THE   D'ESTES 

NO  news !  So  many  days,  and  still  no  news ! " 

Ippolito  d'Este  spoke  in  an  anxious  voice,  leaning  in 
the  wide-cut  window  of  the  watch-tower  that  rose  above 
the  gates  of  Novara. 

"  I  would  we  had  not  sent  those  last  men,"  said  Vin- 
cenzo  gloomily. 

He  was  seated  at  the  table,  his  head  resting  in  his 
hands.  The  chamber  was  large  and  dark,  built  of  rough 
stone  for  strength  and  defense,  fixed  with  narrow  win- 
dows, and  set  with  three  doors — one  into  the  narrow 
stairs,  standing  open,  one  on  either  side  of  it,  shut.  The 
walls  were  bare  of  arras.  Vincenzo's  armor  lay  piled  in 
a  corner,  and  a  great  crucifix,  a  red  praying  hassock  be- 
neath, hung  near  one  of  the  windows. 

"  How  many  have  we,  my  father  ?  "  asked  Vincenzo, 
rising. 

"  Six  hundred  trained  soldiers,"  was  the  brief  answer. 

"And  the  townsfolk?" 

"  Are  the  townsfolk,"  replied  d'Este — "  and  useless." 

Novara  had  been  stormed  and  taken  from  Visconti 
some  months  ago,  and  the  Estes,  fixing  their  headquarters 
there,  had  foraged  the  country  around  as  far  as  the  ram- 
parts of  Magenta,  a  large  town  held  by  Visconti's  men. 

For  these  last  fatal  ten  days,  disaster  after  disaster  had 
reduced  the  Modenese  soldiers  to  a  mere  handful;  and 
when  Mastino,  sending  word  he  was  in  desperate  straits, 
had  called  out  all   of  the  Veronese  that  manned  the 

3M 


THE    PRIDE    OF   THE    D'ESTES  315 

town,  they  were  left  practically  defenseless,  in  the  midst 
of  a  country  where  Visconti's  arms  were  everywhere 
triumphant. 

They  dared  not  leave  the  town;  behind  its  walls  was 
the  only  chance  of  safety.  They  knew  not  what  positions 
Visconti  held,  nor  what  positions  Delia  Scala.  Since  that 
last  appeal  for  aid,  they  had  had  no  message,  no  sign 
from  him.  Scouts  sent  out  had  not  returned;  one  com- 
pany, advancing  from  the  walls,  to  find  no  sign  or  trace 
of  Mastino,  was  surrounded  and  cut  to  pieces — the  few 
who  escaped  returning  to  Novara  with  ghastly  tales.  Vis- 
conti's arms  seemed  everywhere  victorious.  The  country 
was  laid  waste — and  not  by  their  allies. 

But  the  Estes'  hope  was  still  in  Delia  Scala.  Urgent 
messages  were  sent  to  his  camp  outside  Milan,  and  when 
neither  answer  nor  messengers  returned,  the  Duke  of 
Modena  grew  sick  at  heart  indeed. 

He  had  not  mentioned  all  his  fears  to  his  son,  though 
Vincenzo  could  not  but  know  their  strait  desperate. 

"If  we  hear  not  to-day,"  said  d'Este  slowly,  "  I  shall 
think  there  is  treachery ;  not  one  messenger  has  returned 
— treachery,  or  some  misfortune  to  Delia  Scala/' 

"  Then  are  we  lost  indeed!  "  cried  Vincenzo.  "  So  far 
from  Modena — so  near  Milan — only,  what  of  the  army 
that  is  with  Delia  Scala — our  army,  his  and  ours  ?  " 

"  What  army  we  had  with  us,"  replied  Ippolito,  still 
looking  with  anxious  eyes  on  the  level  country,  "  I  sent 
to  Delia  Scala — he  was  in  sore  need.  What  men  we  had 
outside  the  town  have  melted  away  like  snow." 

Vincenzo  began  to  pace  the  room  impulsively — a  slen- 
der figure  in  a  scarlet  velvet  doublet,  his  great  black  eyes 
bright  and  angry. 

"  Shall  we  not  make  a  sortie,  my  father  ?  Shall  we  not 
dash  out  and  fight,  seeing  for  ourselves  what  has  become 
of  Delia  Scala?" 


3i6  THE   VIPER   OF   MILAN 

Ippolito  turned  and  looked  at  him,  with  a  yearning 
love  lighting  his  dark  face. 

u  I  am  waiting,  Vincenzo.  I  have  sent  trusty  scouts  to 
Brescia.  This  silence  cannot  last  long  now;  either  Mas- 
tino  or  Visconti  march  this  way — and  in  either  case  we 
shall  be  ready  to  receive  them,  Vincenzo." 

The  younger  d'Este  lapsed  into  silence.  Ippolito,  too, 
was  quiet,  and  the  pause  was  broken  by  an  officer  en- 
tering. 

"  The  Count  von  Schulembourg,"  he  began. 

"  Conrad !  "  cried  Vincenzo,  springing  up. 

"  Has  he  news?  "  asked  his  father,  eagerly. 

"  I  know  not,  my  lord,"  replied  the  soldier.  "  He  is 
riding  unattended,  and  craves  a  passage  through  the 
town." 

"  He  is  riding  away !  "  said  Vincenzo—"  away  from 
Milan!" 

"  I  must  see  him,"  said  d'Este,  with  a  darkening  face, 
"  at  once." 

As  the  soldier  left,  Vincenzo  looked  at  his  father 
eagerly. 

"  What  may  this  mean,  that  Count  Conrad  rides 
away  ?  " 

"  We  lie  on  the  route  to  the  Empire.  The  German 
maybe  rides  home  from  a  losing  cause." 

"  I  never  thought  such  of  Conrad,"  began  Vincenzo, 
when  the  door  opened  and  the  Count  himself  stepped  into 
the  room,  brilliant,  gay  as  ever,  well  armed,  the  double- 
headed  eagle  on  his  breastplate,  and  the  black  and  yellow 
of  the  Empire  floating  from  his  helm. 

"  Now  well  met,  my  good  lords,"  he  cried,  "  and  fair 
fortune  smile  on  you!  I  would  ask  the  favor  of  a  good 
horse — I  am  on  my  way  to  Germany." 

"  You  leave  the  fight?  "  asked  d'Este. 

Conrad  nodded. 


THE    PRIDE   OF   THE   D'ESTES  317 

"  For  better  men — i'  faith,  I've  tried  all  I  know — no 
man  is  asked  to  break  his  head  against  a  brick  wall  for 
nothing — not  while  the  sun  shines,  and  there  is  such  a 
place  as  his  own  land  to  see  again !  " 

"  You  used  not  to  hold  such  language,  Conrad,"  said 
Vincenzo,  with  some  reproach. 

"  I  have  tried  everything,"  cried  Conrad,  gayly.  "  I 
tried  to  rescue  the  Lady  Valentine,  I  tried  to  kill  Visconti, 
I  tried  to  make  him  kill  me — I  have  failed.  My  Lady 
Valentine  is  married,  and  is  set  out  for  France." 

"  For  France !  "  interrupted  d'Este.  "  Then  must  the 
country  indeed  be  in  Visconti's  hands  if  his  sister  and  a 
wedding-train  set  out  for  France! — what  news,  Count? 
surely  there  is  some  news  ?  " 

"  Not  much  I  care  to  repeat,"  replied  Conrad.  "  Only 
rumors — all  the  country  I  rode  through,  from  here  to 
Milan,  seems  to  swarm  with  Visconti's  men — I  saw  no 
sign  of  Delia  Scala — there  were  wild  tales  abroad,  and 
wild  sights." 

"  On  my  honor,  Count,  you  might  have  come  with 
better  information  than  this — days  have  we  been  waiting 
with  no  sign  nor  word " 

"  From  Mastino,  would  you  say  ? "  asked  Conrad, 
eagerly. 

"  From  Mastino.  Have  you  not  heard  or  seen  aught 
of  him?"  cried  Ippolito. 

Conrad  looked  at  d'Este's  intent  face,  and  from  him 
to  Vincenzo,  waiting  expectantly  for  his  answer. 

"  I — I  cannot  say  I  have,"  he  answered.  "  But  as  I  tell 
you,  I  heard  nothing  save  rumors " 

"And  they ?" 

Conrad  fingered  his  yellow  sash  uneasily. 

"  One  said  Modena  had  fallen " 

Ippolito  gave  a  sudden  cry. 

"Modena!" 


3i8  THE   VIPER   OF   MILAN 

"  Aye,"  said  Conrad,  regretfully.  "  And  Ferrara  and 
Verona — so  I  heard " 


"  Mastino  is  dead !  "  cried  d'Este,  and  Vincenzo  echoed 
the  cry  wildly. 

"  Mastino  is  dead !  " 

"  I  know  not,"  said  the  Count.  "  I  cannot  tell — only 
this,  that  Visconti  marches  this  way — and  once  more — a 
good  horse.  Vincenzo,  Saint  Hubert  has  saved  me  once 
— I  dare  not  ask  him  again !  " 

"  Modena  fallen,"  murmured  d'Este,  unheeding  Con- 
rad's words.  "  And  Verona — Mastino  dead — Visconti 
marches  on  Novara !  " 

"  My  father,  we  are  lost  indeed !  "  cried  Vincenzo,  with 
a  white  face.  "If  Mastino  be  dead " 

"  If  I  "  said  the  elder  D'Este,  sternly.  "  There  is  no  if, 
Vincenzo." 

The  boy  looked  round  bewildered,  and  his  eye  fell  on 
Conrad,  waiting  by  the  door. 

'*  I  will  give  orders  for  thy  horse,"  he  said.  "  Come  with 

me "  and  he  led  the  way  from  the  room.   Conrad 

paused  in  the  door,  but  Ippolito  waved  him  aside  sternly. 

"  Fare  you  well,  Count.  Vincenzo  will  see  to  your 
needs ;  meanwhile  I  have  other  things  to  think  of — "  and 
he  strode  past  them,  swiftly  ascending  the  stairs  to  the 
soldiers  in  the  higher  chamber  of  the  watch-tower. 

Vincenzo,  leaning  on  the  stair-rail,  with  very  bright 
eyes,  looked  after  his  father,  and  then  toward  Conrad 
with  a  sudden  wistful  smile.  "  I  almost  would  I  were 
to  be  riding  gayly  across  a  summer  plain,  away — away — 
this  castle  has  grown  gloomy  of  late — there  is  horror  in 
the  air."  He  shook  the  feeling  off,  speaking  gayly.  "  Well, 
be  glad  thou  art  on  thy  way,  Count  Conrad,  and  in  ex- 
change for  the  horse,  take,  for  my  sake,  with  thee  the 
little  page  Vittore.  He  is  very  young,  and  not  of  Lom- 
bardy." 


THE    PRIDE    OF    THE    D'ESTES  319 

"  Gladly  will  I,"  replied  Conrad,  as  they  descended  the 
narrow  stairs.  "  And  always  shall  I  keep  him  for  thy 
sake." 

"  Aye,  do,"  said  Vincenzo  wistfully  again,  "  otherwise 
thou  would'st  forget — of  a  surety,  forget." 

"  Not  I — I  shall  always  remember." 

Horses  were  brought  to  the  courtyard,  and  Vincenzo 
called  his  little  page  and  put  him  on  one. 

The  sight  of  him  brought  memories  to  both  of  a  certain 
game  of  chess — how  fatal  it  had  been :  how  long  ago  it 
seemed ! 

"  I  tried  to  make  atonement,"  he  murmured. 

"  My  atonement,  methinks,  is  to  come,"  said  Vincenzo. 
"  But  Mastino  will  never  hear  of  it — Mastino  is  dead." 

Conrad  winced.  He  knew  Mastino  was  not  dead,  but 
he  would  as  soon  have  stabbed  Vincenzo  d'Este  as  told 
him. 

"  Fare  thee  well,"  he  said,  holding  out  his  hand. 

"  Fare  thee  well." 

Vincenzo  took  his  hand,  smiled  up  at  him  gravely,  and 
re-entered  the  castle,  mounting  to  the  room  he  had  left. 

Visconti  was  on  the  march. 

Vincenzo  caught  his  breath  sharply  and  went  to  the 
window  to  see  the  last  of  Conrad.  Again  he  wished  he  was 
riding  away  into  the  sunshine,  away  from  the  dark  walls 
that  seemed  closing  round  him  forever. 

"Farewell!"  called  back  Conrad,  gayly  waving  his 
mailed  hand,  and  Vittore,  excited  at  the  sudden  journey, 
drew  off  his  cap  and  waved  it  gayly  too.  "  I  go  to  my 
own  land,"  cried  the  Count.  Vincenzo's  lips  trembled,  but 
his  words  sounded  as  cheerily  as  Conrad's. 

"  And  we  stay  here  in  ours,"  he  called  back. 

And  in  after  days,  in  peaceful  days  in  Germany,  when 
that  brilliant,  bloodstained  Lombard  summer  seemed  far 
away  and  strange  as  a  wild  dream,  Conrad  remembered ; 
a  memory  he  shared  only  with  the  dead. 


320  THE   VIPER   OF   MILAN 

The  spurs  jingled,  with  a  trampling  of  hoofs  the  horses 
turned,  the  strong  sun  caught  Conrad's  plumes  and  Vit- 
tore's  bright  hair,  he  looked  back  with  a  laugh,  and  at  a 
swift  trot  they  passed  through  the  castle  gate. 

Down  the  long  paved  street  they  clattered,  till  that 
sound  too  was  gone. 

Count  Conrad  had  ridden  away.  Vincenzo  stood  silent 
in  the  great  patch  of  sunlight  that  lay  along  the  floor 
till  Conrad's  bridle  bells  were  quite  lost  in  the  distance; 
then  he  turned,  with  something  like  a  sigh. 

He  was  not  alone  long — Ippolito  re-entered  with  a 
calm  face,  and  yet  one  his  son  was  startled  by. 

"  Count  Conrad's  news  has  been  confirmed,"  he  said ; 
"  a  messenger  has  returned."  He  paused  a  moment.  "  All 
the  country  is  in  Visconti's  hands." 

"  The  saints  save  us !  "  cried  Vincenzo. 

"  Aye,  the  saints,  for  there  is  no  hope  in  man !  " 

"  We  must  get  arms — and  succor  into  the  city " 

Ippolito  looked  at  him  with  a  proud  affection. 

"  Follow  me,  Vincenzo." 

He  opened  one  of  the  small  doors ;  it  led  to  a  twisting 
flight  of  steps,  and  the  two  mounted  in  silence. 

At  the  head  of  the  stairway  was  a  chamber  used  as  an 
outlook  toward — Milan. 

"  Gaze  yonder,"  said  Ippolito,  pointing  through  the 
narrow  arched  window. 

Vincenzo  obeyed,  and  looking  out  over  the  great  wide 
plain,  with  its  white  campaniles  dazzling  in  the  sunlight, 
at  first  saw  nothing. 

But  on  the  horizon  was  a  silver  light,  a  light  that 
danced  and  quivered,  flecked  here  and  there  with  red, 
and  dotted  about  with  curious  faint  smoke  wreaths,  fires 
in  broad  day. 

"  Visconti's  army !  "  said  d'Este.  "  And  those  fires  the 
forts  and  villages  Delia  Scala  held — held  but  yesterday !  " 


THE    PRIDE    OF   THE   D'ESTES  321 

Their  doom  was  in  those  words  and  in  what  they  saw ; 
there  was  no  need  for  more. 

"  Santa  Maria  save  us !  "  murmured  Vincenzo,  with  a 
blanched  face.  It  was  all  he  said — words  were  poor,  there 
was  little  enough  time  for  action,  none  for  comment. 

Outside  could  be  heard  the  steady  tramp  of  the  sen- 
tries, and  the  hurry  of  more  soldiers  to  the  walls. 

M  Do  they  know?  "  asked  Vincenzo,  as  they  descended. 

"  The  soldiers — yes — they  are  Modenese.  The  towns- 
folk— poor  wretches — why  tell  them  ?  " 

They  watched  the  other  chamber,  and  after  a  silence 
Vincenzo  spoke  incredulously. 

"  Conrad  said  Modena  had  fallen?  " 

"  It  is  true,"  said  his  father,  in  a  low  voice.  "  And 
Ferrara — oh ! — my  cities !  " 

Vincenzo  gave  a  little  gasp  of  pain. 

"  And  Verona  ?  " 

"  That  too." 

The  younger  d'Este  looked  out  blankly  at  the  sunshine, 
all  hope  faded  from  his  face. 

"  And  Mastino,  father  ?  " 

Ippolito  was  silent,  a  silence  worse  than  speech.  Vin- 
cenzo was  awed. 

"  So  we  are  abandoned — defenseless,  resistance  hope- 
less !  Oh,  my  lord !  my  father !  We  cannot  fall  into  Vis- 
conti's  hands !  We — the  Estes !  " 

"  Hush !  "  said  his  father,  sternly,  yet  with  sparkling 
eyes.  "  I  have  been  considering  all — the  Viper  shall  never 
fly  in  triumph  from  the  walls  from  which  a  living  d'Este 
is  turned.  Oh !  had  I  never  left  Modena !  See,  Vincenzo — 
as  soon  as  Visconti  is  within  two  miles  of  the  gate — 
this !  "  He  touched  the  door  beside  him,  pushing  it  open, 
and  Vincenzo's  startled  gaze  followed  the  direction  of  his 
hand. 

In  the  dark  recess  were  the  stone  steps  leading  to  the 


322  THE   VIPER    OF   MILAN 

store  beneath ;  the  powder,  the  rude  engines  of  war,  and 
a  vast  quantity  of  wood,  stored  for  winter  use,  and  piled 
high  even  to  the  door.  Vincenzo  felt  his  heart  grow  cold ; 
he  looked  from  his  father's  proud  face  to  what  the  steps 
beyond  conveyed,  and  understood. 

He  raised  his  eyes  steadily  and  smiled.  He,  too,  was  an 
Este,  and  in  this  moment  the  proud  glory  in  his  birth  was 
plain. 

"  My  son ! "  cried  Ippolito,  suddenly,  passionately. 
"My  son!" 

Vincenzo  could  not  trust  his  voice  to  answer;  he  sat 
very  still,  the  smile  on  his  lips,  his  hand  on  his  toy-like 
dagger. 

D'Este  turned  his  head  away.  From  without  came  the 
sound  of  voices  and  footsteps — sounds  of  alarm,  com- 
mands, shouts. 

Ippolito  turned  to  the  door. 

"  I  go  to  give  the  last  orders,"  he  said,  and  left  Vin- 
cenzo alone  with  his  approaching  fate. 

He  sat  very  silent. 

This,  then,  was  the  end,  the  end  of  it  all ! 

That  one  thought  beat  strongest  on  his  brain — this  was 
the  end.  What  had  he  not  meant  life  to  give  him — all  he 
had  seen  others  enjoy,  all  he  had  ever  dreamed  of,  honor 
and  fame,  power  and  love,  visions  there  were  no  words 
for — the  future  for  him  had  held  all  these — and  now,  a 
burst  bubble ! 

In  the  very  richness  of  his  youth  he  had  flung  away 
his  days  and  hours,  laughing  at  time,  if  he  ever  thought 
of  it,  and  at  life — then  were  life  and  time  and  an  un- 
ending world  before  him. 

Life !  And  even  while  he  sported  with  it  as  endless,  it 
could  have  been  measured  by  hours. 

A  great  wave  of  homesickness  rushed  over  him,  home- 
sickness for  the  world,  for  the  past  he  had  never  treas- 


THE    PRIDE   OF   THE   D'ESTES  323 

ured,  for  Modena,  the  leaves  and  roses  outside  his 
father's  palace,  and  Conrad  riding  away  into  the  sun- 
shine— away  from  this  dark  chamber  he  would  never 
leave.  Yet  he  did  not  for  a  moment  flinch,  such  a 
thought  never  entered  his  mind,  only  he  could  not  bear 
to  have  to  wait ;  he  wished  it  were  done  and  over — now. 

From  the  street  below  rose  a  great  uproar;  there  was 
some  panic  among  the  people;  the  country  folk  were 
pressing  through  the  gates,  fire  and  sword  behind  them — 
Visconti  was  on  the  march!  Wild,  frightened  screams, 
and  the  hurry  of  feet,  rose  to  the  gloomy  room,  and 
Vincenzo  sprang  up;  he  wished  his  father  had  not  left 
him,  he  wished  he  were  not  alone. 

For  his  thoughts  were  bitter,  and  hard  to  bear  alone. 
His  life  would  be  different,  he  thought,  if  he  lived  it 
again :  not  wasted,  flung  away.  For  the  first  time  he  felt 
he  loved  his  father  dearly,  for  the  first  time  he  realized 
how  Mastino  loved  his  wife — he  understood.  Was  all 
knowledge  coming  to  him  so  late,  things  to  be  made 
clear  only  to  be  darkened  forever? 

Ah,  well,  it  was  all  over  now;  there  were  only  a  few 
moments  to — what?  He  shuddered  a  little — to  what? 
He  wished  his  father  would  return,  passionately  he 
wished  it;  he  did  not  want  to  think — for  the  first  time 
and  the  last.  He  stood  there  with  tight-clasped 
hands,  his  eyes  on  the  door,  holding  desperately  onto 
his  control. 

And  at  last  Ippolito  entered,  quietly,  closing  it  behind 
him.  He  held  a  missal  in  his  hand,  and  a  parchment.  As 
he  laid  them  on  the  table,  Vincenzo  noticed  the  last  was 
sealed  with  the  seal  of  Verona,  the  ladder  of  the  Scaligeri. 

"  Mastino  ?  "  he  whispered. 

"  Mastino  is  dead,"  said  d'Este,  in  a  calm  voice,  and 
he  crumpled  the  parchment  in  his  hand. 

On  it  was  written :  "  I  have  betrayed  you  for  Isotta's 


324  THE   VIPER   OF   MILAN 

life,"  and  it  was  signed  with  the  proudest  name  in  Lom- 
bardy — "  Mastino  Orazio  della  Scala." 

"  That  shall  not  destroy  the  glory  of  Vincenzo's  death," 
thought  d'Este  sternly,  and  he  flung  it  from  him,  into  the 
room  beyond,  among  the  powder — something  only  fit  to 
be  consumed. 

The  castle  within  was  built  largely  of  wood,  and  Vin- 
cenzo,  looking  into  the  darkness  with  a  painful  eagerness, 
watched  the  powder  laid  carefully  about  the  walls,  ex- 
tending in  a  long  train  to  tanks  of  oil,  while  fire  boughs, 
dry  and  leafless,  lay  scattered  thickly.  D'Este  had  not 
been  taken  unprepared.  Vincenzo's  flesh  stirred  and 
shrank;  he  remembered  snatching  a  bat  once  from  the 
camp  fire,  and  how  the  pain  in  his  hurt  hand  had  tortured 
him. 

"  Tis  a  fearful  death !  "  he  murmured. 

Ippolito  turned  a  drawn  face  toward  him. 

"  What  didst  thou  say,  my  son  ?  " 

"  Naught,  father,"  answered  Vincenzo  bravely,  though 
his  heart  was  beating  hot  and  thick.  "  Naught,  save  that 
that  cannot  fail  us." 

"No,  Vincenzo;  the  wind  blows  eastward  across  the 
town,"  said  d'Este,  with  a  calmness  that  was  almost 
brutal.  "  There  will  be  none  for  Visconti  to  take  back  to 
Milan." 

"  We  shall  light  the  sky  bravely  to-night,"  said  Vin- 
cenzo, and  bit  his  lip  to  keep  it  steady. 

His  father's  dark  face  lit  with  a  sudden  proud  smile 
that  transfigured  it. 

"  Some  scouts  say  Visconti  sends  men  to  treat  with 
us,  Vincenzo — with  us — d'Estes !  This  will  be  what  he 
never  reckoned  on:  the  flames  blowing  from  the  walls 
shall  be  our  flags  of  truce !  " 

The  streets,  the  whole  town,  were  in  a  panic.  The  wild 
terror  of  the  whole  country-side  had  found  its  voice  in- 


THE    PRIDE    OF   THE   D'ESTES  325 

side  the  gates  of  Novara;  there  were  six  hundred  men  to 
defend  the  walls — and  God !  how  Visconti  sacked  a  town ! 

The  sunlight  that  had  rested  along  the  walls  when 
Conrad  said  farewell,  lay  along  the  floor  now,  a  great 
square  of  gold  that  just  tipped  the  table  where  Vincenzo's 
hand  rested,  and  lay  lovingly  on  his  scarlet  doublet,  with 
its  little  foolish  vanity  of  ribbons,  and  that  other  hand 
among  them,  clutched  nervously,  almost  desperately,  in 
the  poor  crumpled  finery. 

D'Este  took  the  crucifix  from  the  wall  and  laid  it  on  the 
table.  Under  it  burned  a  candle,  and  he  moved  that  too, 
standing  it  beside  him,  as  he  took  his  seat  opposite  his  son. 

Behind  him  was  the  open  door,  in  front  the  symbol  of 
his  religion — both  meaning  one  thing,  that  the  crucifix 
lying  there  baldly  on  the  rough  wood  table  told  more 
plainly  even  than  the  powder  kegs. 

Vincenzo's  eyes  were  on  the  missal,  but  not  his 
thoughts:  his  ears  on  the  strain  for  that  sound  he  set 
his  teeth  in  readiness  to  hear — the  call  to  the  gates. 

In  the  silence  of  the  chamber,  the  noises  from  the  street 
sounded  distinct,  painfully  distinct — shrieks  and  cries. 
Poor  souls !  so  near  eternity,  and  fighting  over  a  handful 
of  goods !  Presently  all  noises  died  away  into  faint  mur- 
muring— or  had  he  lost  his  power  to  hear?  Then  all  at 
once  it  came — the  beat  of  the  drums,  the  summons  to 
the  walls!  Louder,  louder,  wild,  inspiring,  the  beat  of 
the  drums ;  and  Vincenzo's  heart  bore  them  company. 

They  rose  to  their  feet,  the  two  d'Estes,  and  clasped 
hands  across  the  table,  the  crucifix  between  them. 

"  God  have  mercy  on  our  souls ! "  said  Ippolito,  and 
raised  the  pale,  flaming  candle. 

"  Amen,"  said  Vincenzo,  kissing  the  missal  with  cold 
lips. 

The  drums  beat  wildly,  intoxicatingly,  then  suddenly 
stopped. 


326  THE   VIPER   OF   MILAN 

D'Este  pushed  back  his  chair;  for  a  moment  there 
was  perfect  stillness,  then  he  laid  the  candle  to  the  pow- 
der. .  .  .  And  Vincenzo  d'Este  was  on  his  knees  in  the 
patch  of  sunlight,  its  glory  full  on  his  beautiful,  upturned 
face. 


CHAPTER   THIRTY-TWO 

THE    PRICE   OF   DISHONOR 

He  who  was  once  the  great  Lord  of  Verona  and  a 
proud  and  stainless  knight  stood  without  Brescia,  await- 
ing the  price  of  his  dishonor.  It  was  mid-day,  of  a 
swooning  heat,  and  great  purple  clouds  lay  heavily  about 
the  horizon,  with  a  somberness  that  foretold  a  storm. 

Mastino  della  Scala  stood  alone  on  a  group  of  rocks 
scattered  upon  the  plain,  that  sent  his  tall  figure  up 
against  the  deep  sky,  erect  and  motionless. 

All  that  was  left  of  his  army  was  behind  him  in  the 
chestnut  wood:  half  had  been  betrayed,  half  had  been 
cut  to  pieces  rather  than  yield.  Some  few — the  lowest 
dregs  of  his  camp,  the  men  who  cared  not  where  or  when 
they  drew  their  swords,  so  they  had  food  and  drink — 
remained,  to  try  their  luck  with  him,  now  no  better  than 
one  of  themselves.  Through  all  the  miseries  of  that  weary 
week  his  gallant  band  of  Veronese,  some  two  hundred, 
had  stood  by  him,  watching  the  others  ambushed,  at- 
tacked, surrounded,  and  destroyed,  hearing  of  town  after 
town  that  fell,  and  smiling  scornfully  at  talk  of  treachery, 
accepting  without  question  Mastino's  silence.  Was  he  not 
the  son  of  Can'  Gran'  della  Scala,  and  his  name  one  with 
honor,  the  proudest  name  in  Lombardy,  the  proudest 
badge  in  Italy,  the  ladder  of  the  Scaligeri! 

So  had  they  stayed  with  scorn  at  thoughts  of  betrayal 
whispered  among  the  baser  residue,  until  that  morning 
when  he  had  summoned  their  leaders  and  told  them,  with 

327 


328  THE   VIPER   OF   MILAN 

a  strange  calmness,  he  had  sold  them,  Verona  and  Ver- 
onese, for  his  wife's  release — sold  Lombardy  for  Isotta 
d'Este. 

Then  leaving  them,  standing  silent  and  bewildered, 
Delia  Scala  mounted  to  these  rocks  to  await  his  wife — 
alone.  His  eyes  were  on  the  fields  before  him ;  he  hardly 
noticed  a  slight  figure  that  crept  timidly  to  his  feet — 
Tomaso. 

"  My  lord  " — the  boy's  voice  faltered,  and  he  kept  his 
eyes  turned  away — "  the  Duchess  hath  started  safely ;  I 
saw  her  mount  her  litter  with  glad  eyes;  they  bade  me 
hasten  forward  and  tell  thee  so." 

"Ah!" 

Delia  Scala  stepped  on  to  a  higher  rock  and  shaded  his 
eyes  with  his  hand.  He  was  in  armor,  and  bore  on  his 
arm  his  shield,  across  the  boss  the  ladder,  the  ladder  on 
which  the  Scaligeri  had  climbed  so  high,  and  from  which 
they  had  fallen — to  this! 

Tomaso  crouched  beside  him,  silent  and  dismayed.  He 
had  clung  to  Delia  Scala  spite  of  his  father's  loss  (that 
he  could  not  understand),  and  spite  of  what  was  hap- 
pening now,  that  began  to  make  plain  that  and  many 
things. 

Tomaso  glanced  up  at  the  somber  figure  standing  alone 
above  him.  Mastino  wore  no  mantle,  and  the  golden 
circlet  was  gone  from  his  helmet.  Mastino  della  Scala 
was  no  longer  Duke  of  Verona. 

No  pages  or  footmen  followed ;  save  for  this  one  boy, 
he  was  alone,  carrying  his  own  shield,  holding  his  own 
horse,  despised  of  those  he  once  had  thought  of  as  be- 
neath even  his  scorn. 

A  gallop  of  horses  broke  the  summer  quiet,  and  spears 
gleamed  through  the  ruddy  chestnuts  behind  them.  The 
Veronese,  thought  Tomaso,  the  Veronese  soldiers. 

Della  Scala  neither  turned  his  head  nor  moved,  but 


THE   PRICE   OF   DISHONOR  329 

stood  there  with  his  shield  hanging  on  his  arm,  his  sword 
hand  listless  by  his  side. 

Tomaso  was  right.  The  riders  were  a  band  of  Veronese. 
At  a  full  gallop  they  flew  out  of  the  shade  into  the  sun, 
in  face  and  movement,  fury. 

Tomaso  shrank  back  at  sight  of  them,  roused  from 
their  bewilderment,  riding  full  tilt  toward  Mastino  in  a 
silence  that  was  more  deadly  than  shouts  of  hate;  and 
Mastino  turned  at  last  and  faced  them  with  wild  eyes. 

The  foremost  man  was  swiftly  on  them,  his  furious 
face  brought  close  to  theirs.  As  he  swept  up  he  drew  the 
dagger  at  his  waist  and  hurled  it  full  on  Mastino's  shield. 

"  That  from  me !  "  he  cried,  and  rose  in  his  stirrups 
with  a  shout.  "That  and  my  scorn,  Delia  Scala!" 

But  Mastino  was  prepared ;  he  stood  erect  and  did  not 
flinch. 

Another  rode  by;  bending  his  face  close  to  him,  he 
spat  at  him;  both  shattered  their  daggers  on  to  his  shield, 
those  daggers  mounted  with  his  arms  that  they  carried 
as  his  soldiers.  One  tore  from  his  neck  the  collar  Mastino 
had  hung  there,  and  flung  it  at  his  feet  with  curses. 

"  Traitor,  where  is  Ligozzi  ? "  cried  one,  hurling  an 
imprecation,  and  Delia  Scala  took  a  step  back  with  a  cry 
wrung  from  him ;  but  the  man  was  gone,  and  the  face  of 
another  Veronese  was  looking  into  his  with  utter  loath- 
ing. Without  a  pause  they  dashed  by,  each  hurling  his 
dagger,  and  many  some  order  or  sign  of  Mastino's 
friendship,  full  upon  that  shield  that  hung  on  Delia 
Scala's  arm. 

"  That  to  cheer  thee  in  thy  shame!  " 

"  That  to  make  a  necklet  for  Isotta  d'Este ! " 

"  This  from  me,  who  would  have  died  for  thee !  " 

The  taunts  were  bitter  and  savage,  and  hurled  in  a  fury 
of  scorn  and  hate ;  but  Mastino  della  Scala,  save  for  that 
one  movement,  neither  flinched  nor  stepped  out  the  way 


330  THE   VIPER   OF   MILAN 

of  the  onward  rush,  but  bore  for  a  long  hour  of  that 
summer  day  that  wild  ride  past  of  the  Veronese  and  the 
batter  on  his  shield  of  the  daggers  that  disdained  to  slay 
him. 

"  Stop !  in  the  name  of  heaven,  stop ! "  shrieked  To- 
maso,  and  held  his  hands  against  his  ears. 

They  took  no  heed  of  him,  in  their  mad  fury  did  not 
even  see  the  boy.  But  to  Tomaso  it  was  most  terrible 
that  Delia  Scala  made  no  movement  to  defend  himself ; 
his  calm  face  was  awful.  "  Stop !  *  Tomaso  shrieked 
again.  "Stop!" 

How  many  more,  how  many  more!  How  many  times 
more  that  rattle  as  the  daggers  struck  the  shield  and 
then  fell  to  lie  bright  in  the  sun?  How  many  more  furi- 
ous faces,  how  many  more  bitter  curses?  How  long 
would  Delia  Scala  stand  there  turned  to  stone?  Tomaso 
crouched  and  hid  his  eyes.  At  last  they  came  to  an  end ! 
The  last  rode  by,  the  standard-bearer,  tearing  the  stan- 
dard to  rags  with  furious  hands. 

"  Verona  is  no  more !  "  he  yelled.  "  The  Scaligeri  are 
no  more,  the  standard  is  no  more,  the  standard  of 
Verona ! " 

He  threw  the  twist  of  red  and  gold  at  Mastino's  feet 
with  a  sudden  wail  in  his  voice.  He  was  an  old  man, 
one  who  had  served  Mastino  and  Mastino's  father  well. 
He  stopped  his  horse;  the  first  who  had  done  so. 

"  Mastino  della  Scala !  oh,  why  didst  thou  do  this 
thing?  Tell  me  thou  repentest!  "  he  cried. 

Mastino  looked  into  the  old  man's  wistful  face. 

"  Verona  is  no  more,  the  Scaligeri  are  no  more.  Ride 
thee  to  the  others,  old  man,"  he  said. 

The  standard-bearer  wrung  his  hands. 

"  I  loved  thee ! "  he  pleaded.  *  Save  thy  soul  and  say 
thou  dost  repent !  " 

Mastino's  proud  head  was  erect. 


THE    PRICE   OF    DISHONOR  331 

"  And  do  I  live  to  save  my  soul  ?  Get  thee  to  the  others, 
I  do  not  repent." 

The  old  man  rode  away  sorrowfully.  Delia  Scala 
watched  him  disappear  behind  the  rocks  and  trees. 

He  was  the  last,  and  silence  fell. 

"  They  are  gone ! "  breathed  Mastino.  "  They  are 
gone ! " 

His  eyes  fell  to  his  shield;  from  rim  to  rim  it  was 
defaced  and  dented,  and  the  ladder  of  the  Scaligeri  was 
beaten  from  its  boss.  The  ground  around  was  piled  with 
arms,  and  Mastino  put  his  hand  up  to  his  eyes,  stagger- 
ing. The  ladder  of  the  Scaligeri  was  beaten  from  his 
shield! 

"  Some  men  remain,  my  lord,"  said  Tomaso  timidly,  at 
last,  with  a  boyish  effort  at  some  consolation. 

But  Mastino  winced;  that  they  remained  was  a  sorer 
shame  even  than  the  desertion  of  the  others:  for  they 
were  men,  scum  of  camps,  who  fought  solely  for  pay 
and  plunder,  and  laughed  at  dishonor  and  admired 
treachery — they  were  the  men  who  had  stayed. 

"  Isotta ! "  cried  Mastino,  with  a  sudden  wild  move- 
ment. "  Why  does  she  not  come  ? — have  I  not  waited  long 
— have  I  not  paid  enough  ?  " 

"  I  think  I  see  her  escort  coming  across  the  fields,"  said 
Tomaso  timorously. 

Mastino  turned  and  grasped  his  arm  with  a  sudden 
change  of  manner. 

"  Tomaso,"  he  faltered,  "  methinks  I  am  changed  since 
last  I  saw  her;  perhaps  she  will — not  know  me — or  will 
startle  at  me  if  she  does.  Tomaso,  she  is  very  fair  and 
I  have  nothing  to  offer  now — Tomaso,  am  I  very 
changed  ?  " 

He  was  changed,  so  changed  the  boy  would  scarce  have 
known  him ;  his  soft  brown  hair  was  streaked  with  gray, 
his  fine  face  drawn  and  white,  his  eyes,  once  soft  and 


332  THE   VIPER   OF   MILAN 

kind,  unnaturally  bright,  and,  like  his  mouth,  strained 
and  hard. 

Mastino  laughed  pitifully  as  he  read  the  answer  in 
Tomaso's  frightened  eyes. 

"  She  will  not  care — she  will  not  care,"  he  said.  But  his 
voice  was  unsteady,  and  he  supported  himself  against  the 
saddle  of  his  horse. 

"  The  Duchess  comes ! "  said  Tomaso,  and  clutched 
Mastino's  hand. 

Out  of  a  little  wood  of  delicate  trees,  in  front  of  them, 
the  cavalcade  was  winding :  Visconti's  soldiers,  Veronese 
soldiers,  and  a  white,  curtained  litter  in  the  midst. 

Mastino's  gaze  flew  to  that,  and  to  that  only. 

"  Oh,  my  heart's  desire !  "  he  murmured.  "  I  do  not 
repent ! "  And  he  forgot  the  ladder  of  the  Scaligeri  bat- 
tered from  his  shield. 

The  soldiers  cantered  up  and  lowered  their  halberds  in 
a  salute  to  the  magnificent  figure  standing  there  alone, 
while  the  officer  read  in  a  high  voice  from  the  parchment, 
that  stated  that  Isotta  d'Este,  Duchess  of  Verona,  pris- 
oner of  war  of  Gian  Galeazzo  Maria  Visconti,  Duke  of 
Milan,  was  returned  to  her  husband  in  fulfillment  of  the 
league  and  treaty  between  them. 

"  Into  your  hands  we  deliver  her  in  safety,  my  lord, 
and  my  lord  of  Milan  offers  three  months  in  which  to 
either  quit  Lombardy  or  choose  some  post  in  his  service 
in  Verona." 

"  My  choice  is  made :  I  quit  Lombardy,"  said  Mastino. 
"  Leave  me." 

The  soldier  lightly  shrugged  his  shoulders  and  gave 
the  word,  and,  cantering  off,  Visconti's  guards  wheeled 
and  followed  swift  behind  him.  They  had  fulfilled  their 
duty:  Isotta  d'Este's  safety  was  no  affair  of  theirs 
now. 

The  Veronese  footmen  bearing  the  litter  had  set  their 


THE   PRICE   OF   DISHONOR  333 

burden  down;  the  white  curtains  fluttered — was  it  the 
breeze,  or  Isotta's  hand,  that  stirred  them  so? 

"  Tomaso,  Tomaso,  I  have  borne  much ;  can  I  bear 
this?" 

His  eyes  were  sparkling,  his  tone  joyful ;  he  had  thrown 
all  his  shame  from  his  heart;  the  miserable  past,  the 
miserable  future,  were  alike  forgotten;  the  world  had 
narrowed  to  this — her  welcoming  face. 

He  laid  his  shield  on  the  ground  gently,  and  walked 
across  the  grass  softly.  The  curtains,  white  in  the  still 
blazing  sun,  dazzled  him;  his  heart  was  beating  so,  he 
thought  it  must  choke  him. 

u  Isotta ! " 

He  called  her  name  so  low  she  could  not  hear. 

"Isotta!" 

Still  she  made  no  answer. 

"  Perchance  she  is  very  weary,"  said  Mastino  to  him- 
self, tenderly,  and  drew  the  white  curtains  back.  She  lay 
back  among  silk  cushions. 

"  Isotta,  my  dear !  " 

There  was  a  tremor  in  his  voice.  Had  she  fainted  ? 

She  lay  back,  her  head  away  from  him,  and,  bending 
over  her,  he  saw  through  her  long  curls  that  her  eyes 
were  closed,  her  lips  parted,  and  one  hand  at  her  throat 
— the  hand  that  bore  his  wedding  ring.  Oh,  heaven ! 

He  caught  her  head  in  his  hands  and  looked  at  her. 
She  was  dead,  quite  dead.  The  silk  curtains  fell-to  again, 
and  at  Mastino's  cry  the  bearers  shrank,  appalled.  Isotta 
d'Este  was  dead. 

And  Mastino  lay  along  the  ground,  senseless,  his  de- 
faced shield  near  him,  bare  to  the  bright  glare  of  the 
sinking  sun. 


CHAPTER   THIRTY-THREE 

THE   STORM 

THE  storm  had  gathered  and  burst;  rain  fell  in  great 
drops  that  did  not  allay  the  heat ;  the  sky  was  covered 
with  clouds  that  dragged  across  the  moon  in  a  slow  pro- 
cession, dark  and  mysterious. 

In  one  or  two  tents,  thrown  open  to  catch  the  breeze 
that  stirred  the  chestnuts,  sat  the  little  handful  of  soldiers 
left  to  Mastino.  Rude  and  coarse,  still  were  they  awed, 
by  the  horror  that  had  befallen,  to  a  whispering  quiet. 

Like  a  patch  of  white  showing  dimly  through  the 
gloom,  the   curtains   of  a   litter  were  to   be   seen.    At  i 
thought  of  who  sat  within  alone  there  in  the  rain  and 
dark,  the  men  shuddered  and  drew  nearer  together. 

"The  Prince?"  one  whispered. 

"  I  have  been  to  the  tent,  but  further  than  the  door 
I  dare  not." 

"  What  was  there  to  see?  " 

"  The  boy — alone,  weeping  like  a  woman.  Santa 
Maria!  I  should  not  like  the  watch  he  keeps!  " 

"  The  Prince  is  mad,  think  you?  " 

"The  Prince  is  mad,  or — hush! — possessed." 

The  men  fell  again  to  a  silence,  broken  only  by  the 
patter  of  the  rain.  At  last  another  spoke,  one  drawn  fur- 
ther back  into  the  tent. 

"  How  came  it  about,  think  you?  " 

"  Visconti " 

"  Ah,  yes,  Visconti,  of  a  surety ;  but  how  ?  " 

334 


THE   STORM  335 

"  The  wedding  ring,  Petio — it  was  handed  to  her  as  she 
entered  the  litter — it  was  poisoned!  She  put  it  on,  poor 
soul — kissed  it,  no  doubt: — well,  it  was  poisoned,  Petio!  " 

"  And  so  she  started  alive,  and  now  lies  there  dead — 
poor  soul! " 

The  men  muttered  and  crossed  themselves;  a  few  sat 
in  moody  thought. 

"  The  sun — we  need  the  sun,"  said  one  at  last. 

"  And  a  little  wind,  not  these  stifling  puffs — a  little 
wind  from  heaven.  'Tis  hot  as  hell!  " 

"Hush!" 

How  it  rained !  And  a  wind  rose,  but  it  scarcely  seemed 
from  heaven.  The  chestnuts  moaned,  tossing  their 
branches. 

"  Hush !  "  said  some  one  suddenly.  "  The  dear  Lord 
forgive  my  sins ! — who  comes  ?  " 

They  heard  a  footstep;  a  hand  was  fumbling  at  the 
entrance  of  their  tent. 

"The  Prince!" 

And  the  next  instant  the  men  sprang  to  their  feet  in 
affright  at  what  was  before  them,  at  the  livid  face  looking 
at  them — Mastino  della  Scala. 

"  My  wife !  "  he  cried  hoarsely.  "  Give  me  my  wife !  " 

They  looked  on  one  another,  helpless,  and  made  no 
answer.  But  Mastino,  striding  forward,  seized  the  fore- 
most by  the  throat  and  shook  him  like  a  rag. 

"  Where  is  she  ?  What  have  you  done  with  her?  Is  she 
not  bought  and  paid  for?  Where  is  she?  " 

Tomaso  sprang  into  the  tent,  a  piteous  young  figure, 
wet  to  the  skin. 

"  Oh,  my  lord! — I  will  take  thee  to  her.  Come  away! 
Come  with  me! " 

His  voice  broke  into  a  passion  of  sobs,  and  Mastino 
dropped  his  hands  and  paused. 

"  Your  lady  lies  still  in  her  litter,"  said  a  soldier. 


336  THE   VIPER   OF   MILAN 

"Out  yonder  in  the  rain,  you  rascal  1 "  cried  Delia 
Scala.  "  What  is  she  doing  there?  " 

He  flung  from  the  tent,  and  Tomaso  after  him,  the  bit- 
ter sobs  catching  at  his  throat. 

"  I  cannot  bear  it,"  he  cried.  "  It  is  doom  itself.  Oh, 
my  master!  my  dear  master!  " 

The  soldiers  crowded  together  and  watched. 

"Look!"  gasped  one,  pointing  through  the  dark. 
"  He  hath  got  her— he  hath  got  her!  " 

And  they  huddled  back,  half  falling  over  one  another, 
as  Mastino  came  into  view — a  slender  thing  in  white  and 
purple  in  his  arms.  Close  by,  he  paused,  and  laid  it  ten- 
derly across  the  saddle  of  his  white  horse,  whinnying 
low  and  waiting. 

"  Jesu,  protect  us ! "  cried  the  men.  "  Where  is  he 
going?  " 

"  Stop  him!  stop  him! "  shrieked  Tomaso,  running  to 
them.      He  goes  to  find — Visconti !  " 

"  Then  no  one  of  us  had  best  dare  meddle,"  was  the 
answer.  "  Keep  away  from  him,  boy;  he  is  mad,  pos- 
sessed— maybe  by  the  devil!  " 

"  I  care  not ! "  cried  Tomaso  in  an  agony  of  sorrow. 
"He  shall  not  ride  so;  he  has  no  armor  on — it  will 
be  to  his  death.  He  shall  not  go — my  lord!  my  dear 
lord!" 

He  sprang  forward  to  the  white  horse,  which  Mastino 
had  mounted,  and  clung  to  the  stirrup. 

"  Not  to-night,  my  lord ;  wait  till  the  morn — till  the 
storm  is  over;  thou  art  unarmed!  " 

Mastino  drew  Isotta  close  to  him,  till  her  head  rested 
on  his  shoulder,  and  looked  down  wildly  at  Tomaso. 

"  Visconti  lies  outside  Novara — I  know  the  way!  "  he 
said. 

"  Take  some  of  us  with  thee ! "  implored  Tomaso. 
"  Oh,  my  lord " 


THE   STORM  337 

But  Delia  Scala  spurred  the  horse  into  a  sudden  leap, 
that  threw  Tomaso  to  the  ground. 

"  I  know  the  way!  "  he  said. 

The  white  horse  plunged  forward  into  the  storm,  and 
the  dark  closed  round  the  rider  and  his  burden. 

For  hours  had  Delia  Scala  ridden  with  his  wife  across 
his  horse  and  against  his  breast,  but  riding  always  toward 
Novara ;  and  now  he  had  ridden  suddenly  into  a  wild  red  ' 
glare  that  lit  the  sky. 

Mastino's  thoughts  were  centered  on  one  thing — Vis- 
conti.  There  was  no  reflection  in  them;  neither  the  past 
nor  present  had  meaning.  He  was  riding  in  a  nightmare : 
he  knew  he  carried  Isotta,  and  that  she  was  dead;  he 
knew  too  he  was  riding  to  find  Visconti — nothing  more. 

The  red  glare  rose  into  the  sky  in  pointed  flames. 
1  'Tis  a  burning  city,"  said  Mastino ;  but  the  words  had 
no  meaning.  Here  was  light,  however,  had  he  needed  it 
whereby  to  find  Visconti. 

That  blinding  flare,  though  still  a  mile  away,  lit  up  the 
great  posterns  of  a  gate  near,  and  a  long  wall  adjoining 
was  glowering  red  in  it,  the  trails  of  the  flowers  showing 
like  blood  as  they  hung  over  it,  spectral  and  strange. 
It  was  a  noble's  summer  palace,  lit  by  Novara  burning 
yonder. 

Mastino  stopped  his  horse,  that  needed  no  checking, 
worn  out  by  that  wild  ride,  and  gazed  before  him  at  the 
flames,  and  slowly  something  of  reasoning  power  re- 
turned. He  had  ridden  to  meet  Visconti,  and  Visconti 
was  here.  He  knew  it — either  of  God  or  devil — knew 
it  surely;  and  he  rode  his  horse  on  slowly,  with  the  double 
burden,  through  the  unguarded  gates,  and  came  to  a 
flight  of  steps  unguarded  too,  leading  up  to  a  wide  bal- 
cony, overlooked  by  high,  open,  lighted  windows.  Here 
was  the  place — unguarded.  Here  was  Visconti,  and  the 


338  THE   VIPER   OF   MILAN 

soul  of  Mastino  suddenly  blazed  into  a  white  heat  that 
for  a  moment  blinded  him. 

Then  he  dismounted,  and  laid  Isotta  down,  speaking 
the  while  to  his  horse.  The  glow  from  the  burning  city 
wrapped  them  both  and  made  the  fair  dead  face  rosy. 
The  tempest  was  over,  and  only  a  soft  rain  fell,  ceasing 
gradually.  Mastino  found  a  sheltered  spot  beneath  the 
bushes,  and  with  a  pitiful  gentleness  laid  Isotta  down  and 
drew  the  hood  about  her  head. 

I  will  come  back,"  he  murmured,  kissing  her.  Then 
he  turned  to  the  steps  with  his  naked  dagger  in  his  hand. 
He  wore  no  armor;  he  was  bare-headed — he  gave  it  no 
thought.  He  was  here  to  slay  Visconti.  That  was  God's 
fact. 

Along  the  steps  a  soldier  came  lazily,  and  Mastino 
sprang  on  him  and  strangled  him  before  he  could  cry 
out,  bearing  the  body  noiselessly  to  the  ground.  Then, 
listening,  he  heard  from  within  the  palace  a  laugh  and  a 
voice — Visconti's.  Delia  Scala  looked  round.  How  was 
he  to  get  to  him?  He  must  feel  Visconti's  blood  run 
warm  over  his  hands,  and  quickly. 

"How  it  blazes!  The  soldiers  will  have  poor  spoil," 
said  Visconti.  "  But  we  will  build  another  town,  de  Lana: 
we  are  rich  enough." 

"  Outside  the  walls  just  now  we  found  a  ghastly  thing," 
said  a  second  voice :  "  a  human  hand  grasping  tight  a 
knot  of  scarlet  ribbons — just  the  hand,  a  beautiful  hand." 

"  Your  tales  sicken  me — I  have  always  hated  horrors," 
said  Visconti. 

Mastino  crept  along  and  found  a  door. 

"  I  will  get  in  here,"  he  said  within  himself;  and  then 
within  himself  he  laughed,  for  it  was  opened. 

The  tapestry  within  was  moved  aside,  and  there  was  a 
glimpse  of  a  white  sleeve  and  a  delicate,  ringed  hand. 
The  next  moment  the  curtain  was  torn,  in  a  giant's  grip, 


THE   STORM  339 

from  its  fastening,  and  Mastino,  trampling  it  under  him, 
was  upon  them — in  his  madness  staying  to  reckon  on  no 
odds. 

Where  was  Visconti  ?  Not  far,  for  he  himself,  with  his 
own  hand,  had  opened  the  door. 

But  from  the  red  glare  outside,  the  blaze  within  blinded 
Delia  Scala.  He  looked  round  him  for  Visconti.  Then 
a  voice  screamed:  "  Keep  him  off!  "  and  suddenly  his  eyes 
met  the  Duke's,  and  he  strode  forward.  It  seemed  al- 
most done.  Visconti,  in  wild  fear,  fell  back  before  that 
terrible  face,  staggering  against  the  wall,  his  hand  fum- 
bling for  his  dagger,  and  the  men  in  the  room  scattered 
to  right  and  left,  as  before  an  apparition. 

"  Gentlemen!  "  shrieked  Visconti,  "  you  are  ten  to  one: 
stop  him !  A  fortune  for  the  one  who  slays  him ! " 

But  Mastino  had  him  in  his  grip — almost:  another 
moment 

But  Visconti  fell,  and  crouched  along  the  wall,  those 
reaching  hands  above  him;  and  a  dozen  swords  leaped 
out:  the  soldiers  flocked  in  from  the  ante-room:  there 
was  a  wild  confusion. 

"  Slay  him !  "  shrieked  Visconti.  But  from  Delia  Scala, 
as  they  closed  on  him,  came  a  yell  that  froze  the  marrow. 

Ten  to  one!  They  needed  to  be.  The  place  began  to 
run  with  blood. 

"  Gian  Visconti!  Gian  Visconti!  " 

Visconti  rose  by  the  wall  again.  "Kill  him!"  he 
gasped.  "  Kill  him !  "  and  cowered  away.  He  was  not 
sure  if  that  face  or  that  figure,  struggling  ever  toward 
him,  could  be  killed;  that  they  were  earthly,  or  that  that 
was  the  voice  of  a  man  that,  with  no  sound  of  the  human 
left  in  it,  called  his  name. 

"  Let  them  kill  him!  "  screamed  Visconti. 

But  de  Lana  did  not  move,  he  did  not  look  round; 
neither  did  Visconti. 


340  THE   VIPER   OF   MILAN 

"  Visconti!  Visconti!  M  gasped  the  voice.  .  .  .  Ah!  .  .  . 
There  was  a  great  scuffling  of  feet,  the  dragging  of  a 
heavy  body,  and  Mastino,  an  inert  mass  upon  the  sol- 
diers' arms,  was  forced  back  upon  the  balcony. 

They  let  him  fall  there,  and  one  heard  him  moan;  but 
he  was  bleeding  from  twenty  wounds.  They  left  him  and 
closed  the  door. 

Visconti  looked  round  fearfully. 

"  Is  he  gone  ?  "  he  said. 

The  great  candelabra  had  been  overturned  and  the 
room  was  in  a  semi-gloom,  broken  only  by  the  dim 
candles  in  their  sconces  and  the  fitful  flare  from  the 
city. 

No  one  answered  Visconti.  The  men  drew  breath  in 
silence,  and  looked  at  their  wounds.  How  he  had  fought ! 
A  horror  fell  upon  them. 

"  Is  he  dead?  "  asked  Visconti,  shaking  like  a  leaf. 

"  There  were  fifteen  men  to  kill  him,"  said  de  Lana, 
and  he  wiped  some  blood  from  his  hand  with  a  shiver. 

No  one  else  broke  the  silence,  all  stood  still  as  if  spell- 
bound; it  was  a  horrible,  horrible  thing,  and  they  drew 
back  from  the  door — afraid. 

"Hush!— what  was  that?" 

Visconti  leaned  forward  fearfully. 

"What  was  it?" 

The  sound  of  some  one  on  the  balcony.  Visconti's  face 
went  livid. 

»  He  is  alive " 

A  horrid  shudder  ran  through  them  all.  De  Lana 
strove  to  speak  and  could  not. 

"  The  door  is  not  fastened,"  whispered  Visconti, 
hoarsely.  "  Fasten  the  door — some  one!  " 

But  no  one  moved,  no  one  dared,  for  superstitious 
horror. 

Something  fell  back  from  the  door,  then  the  sound  of 


THE   STORM  34I 

something  that  dragged  itself  against  it  painfully,  then 
a  rattle  at  the  unbolted  door. 

"  He  is  not  dead!  "  half  screamed  Visconti.  "  A  town 
to  the  man  who  will  go  out  and  slay  him! " 

No  one  moved. 

"  A  half-dead  man!  "  cried  the  Duke,  "  and  no  one  will 
end  his  misery?" 

They  dared  not. 

"  Hark!  he  will  have  the  door  open.  De  Lana,  I  com- 
mand you "  He  pointed  with  a  shaking  hand,  but  de 

Lana  only  shook  his  head. 

"  There  has  too  much  been  done  already,"  he  said, 
shudderingly. 

The  Duke  looked  round  wildly. 

"  A  town,  a  fortune  to  the  one  who  will  have  com- 
passion " ;  and  with  a  shrug  and  a  grimace,  a  rough  sol- 
dier stepped  forward,  his  drawn  sword  in  his  hand,  and 
opening  the  door,  pushed  something  back  before  him  and 
went  out. 

Gian  breathed  heavily,  listening,  but  the  next  second 
the  soldier  was  in  the  room  again,  with  altered  face,  and 
the  door  ajar  behind  him. 

"  I  cannot,"  he  gasped — "  it's  blind,  struggling — it — 
does  not  look  like  a  man — I " 

"  Shut  the  door!  "  yelled  Visconti,  and  then  fell  back 
against  de  Lana,  shaking,  for  a  livid  face  appeared,  with 
dim  eyes  and  a  bare  throat  streaked  with  blood.  For  one 
moment  the  ghastly  apparition  showed  there,  then  fell 
into  the  dark  again. 

There  was  a  sickening  pause.  Visconti  spoke  first, 
looking  around. 

"  Are  we  fools  or  women? — he  came  to  murder  me,  and 
he  is  slain — what  is  there  in  that?  Go  and  see  now  if  he 
be  dead." 

Some  one  went,  fearfully. 


342  THE   VIPER   OF   MILAN 

He  lies  very  still,  my  lord;  he  is  dead- 


The  trembling  pages  had  brought  more  lights,  and 
light  was  life  to  Visconti.  He  came  forward  and  looked, 
a  little  nearer,  on  the  figure  in  the  doorway,  but  very 
slowly,  with  de  Lana  between. 

Mastino  lay  out  straight,  in  a  sudden  up-flare  from  the 
burning  city,  his  arm  flung  over  his  face. 

"  He  was  a  giant,"  whispered  Visconti,  fearfully.  "  And 
how  dark! — I  do  not  remember  him  so  dark " 

He  looked  over  de  Lana's  shoulder  at  him. 

The  soldiers  peered  behind  him.  That  man  was  Mas- 
tino della  Scala  once! — it  was  strange  even  to  their  cold 
hearts. 

He  was  dead — dead!  Visconti's  fear,  the  superstitious 
fear  of  a  righteous,  God-sent  vengeance,  turned  to  a 
savage  joy;  still  he  was  afraid,  still  afraid. 

He  touched  the  body  with  the  point  of  his  gold  shoe. 

"  Throw  him  into  the  garden,"  he  said  to  the  soldiers, 
showing  his  teeth. 

Giannotto  and  de  Lana  exchanged  a  curious  glance; 
the  soldier  set  his  lips. 

"  Are  you  all  traitors  or  cowards,  that  you  do  not  heed 
me?"  cried  Visconti,  in  a  fury.  "Throw,  thrust,  kick 
this  thing  into  the  garden — let  him  lie  there  till  the 
morning." 

"  My  lord,"  said  de  Lana,  with  a  dangerous  look  in  his 
eyes,  "  he  was  a  Prince  and  a  Scaliger!  " 

"  He  was  my  enemy — scorn  for  scorn !  Throw  Mastino 
della  Scala  from  the  balcony — or " 

And  half  a  dozen  men  came  forward  and  lifted  the 
prostrate  body. 

"  Haste,"  said  Visconti,  his  eyes  on  de  Lana.  "  Throw 
him  out  of  my  sight." 

"  Let  them  carry  him  down  the  steps,  my  lord,"  cried 
de  Lana. 


THE   STORM  343 

But  Visconti  turned  on  him,  his  face  and  hair  glowing 
in  the  light  of  the  flames  from  Novara,  his  face  fiendish. 

"  They  shall  do  as  I  bid,  or  hang  from  the  nearest  tree! 
Now  haste !  "  he  said  again,  as  if  he  feared  the  dead 
might  yet  arise. 

They  carried  the  body  to  the  edge  of  the  steps  and 
pushed  it  over,  crashing  dully  down  the  foliage  that  half 
overspread  the  marble. 

Visconti  stepped  to  the  parapet  and  looked  over. 

"  He  said  something  as  he  fell,"  he  whispered  to  him- 
self. "  I  heard  him — but  he  must  be  dead  now " 

He  turned  back  into  the  room,  breathing  more  freely. 

"  Now  close  the  door  again,"  he  said,  and  watched 
while  it  was  done. 


CHAPTER   THIRTY-FOUR 

AN    INSTRUMENT   OF   GOD 

HOW  many,  de  Lana — how  many?" 

"  Five — six  or  seven " 

"Hundreds!" 

"Thousands,  my  lord!" 

Visconti  leaned  forward  in  his  chair  in  his  excitement. 

"  Thousands  ?  " 

"  The  men  from  Magenta  are  come  in,  laden  with 
plunder." 

Visconti  laughed. 

"  I  said  I  would  give  them  Lombardy  to  sack — and 
there  are  thousands  of  prisoners  ?  " 

The  scene  was  the  summer  palace,  that  same  night. 
Visconti  sat  at  the  head  of  a  table  in  a  room  adjoining 
the  one  in  which  the  tapestry  was  torn  and  the  floor  still 
sticky  with  blood.  It  was  a  small  apartment,  beautifully 
inlaid  with  mosaic,  and  now  blazing  with  lights,  and  full 
of  a  fine  company  of  officers  and  nobles. 

"  Thousands — men,  women,  and  children — some  men 
of  note,  too,  my  lord;  the  ransacking  of  palaces  for 
miles " 

"AndNovara?" 

"  Some  beat  the  flames  out  still — they  say  half  the 
place  is  saved." 

"Let  them  plunder  it!"  cried  Visconti.  "Let  them 
pick  Novara  bare !  The  palace  was  burned  ?  " 

"  To  a  cinder " 

344 


AN    INSTRUMENT    OF    GOD  345 

"  To  a  heap  of  ashes!  "  said  another.  "  There  is  noth- 
ing but  the  bastion,  red  hot " 

"  As  you  should  know,  da  Ribera,"  laughed  the  officer 
next  him,  "  seeing  you  tried  to  ride  over  it." 

"  And  killed  his  horse,"  said  another. 

"  And  saved  myself!  "  shouted  da  Ribera.  "  I  look  for 
a  reward  for  that,  my  lord — the  saving  of  a  valiant  officer 
of  yours " 

"  Shall  not  be  forgotten !  "  laughed  Visconti.  "  Be  paid 
by  this  advice — remember  burning  towns  are  dangerous, 
as  to  his  mortal  cost  a  certain  great  Frenchman  found  at 
Rouen,  and  several  great  Germans  more  recently  at 
Milan " 

"  When  they  lay  along  the  ramparts  like  flies,  I  have 
heard  my  grandfather  say,  striving  to  loot  in  the  midst 
of  the  very  flames,"  said  de  Lana,  "  like  da  Ribera  here." 

"  Had  /  been  in  Milan,  Barbarossa  himself  would  have 
burned  in  the  midst  of  it,"  said  Visconti,  sweeping  back 
the  glass  and  silver  before  him.  "  The  town  had  weeks 
to  prepare." 

"  Had  you  been  there,  Milan  would  not  have  burned 
at  all,  my  lord! "  said  a  flattering  voice. 

"  Maybe  it  would  not.  It  was  certainly  before  the 
Visconti's  rule  began,"  and  he  looked  down  the  table 
with  a  smile  at  the  dark  face  of  Martin  della  Torre. 

"  And  now  the  plans,  de  Lana — Novara  to  Magenta, 
Magenta  to  Vercelli." 

He  swept  the  glasses  still  further  back,  and  spread  the 
parchment  de  Lana  handed  him  on  the  colored  marble 
table. 

"Vercelli — we  hold  Vercelli,  de  Lana?"  The  officers 
moved  up  closer,  leaning  over  the  table. 

"  We  hold  Vercelli — and  Magenta." 

Visconti  placed  a  silver  goblet  to  keep  the  parchment 
down,  and  traced  the  route  with  the  point  of  his  dagger. 


346  THE   VIPER   OF   MILAN 

"  To  Turin — to  Cuneo— as  near  as  we  dare  to  the  stiff- 
necked  Genoese,  and  we  have  circled  Piedmont." 

"And  these  same  Genoese?" 

"  Let  them  keep  quiet,"  said  Visconti,  sheathing  his 
dagger  and  leaning  back,  "and  they  may  keep  Genoa; 
we  have  larger  game  in  view — the  Empire.  From  the 
walls  of  Novara  the  Alps  are  to  be  seen,  from  the  walls  of 
Magenta  they  hide  half  the  sky,  from  Turin  one  may 
touch  them,  and  so  we  go  closer " 

"  And  hold  the  Empire  in  check,"  said  de  Lana, 
with  excited  eyes.  "  Ah,  my  lord,  it  was  almost  worth 
it " 

Visconti  turned  to  him  sharply. 

"  What  do  you  say,  de  Lana?  " 

There  was  a  second's  pause.  This  was  the  first,  even 
vague,  reference  to  what  had  happened  earlier  that  same 
night;  it  seemed  weeks  since,  and  yet  the  sun  had  not 
risen  on  it. 

Visconti  looked  at  de  Lana  and  laughed. 

"Almost  worth  it — almost  worth  what,  de  Lana?" 

The  soldier,  recovering  himself,  returned  his  glance. 

"  The  extinction  of  four  noble  families,  my  lord." 

"  Did  my  lord  do  it?  "  cried  another. 

"  Did  he  ask  the  d'Estes  to  burn  Novara?" 

"  No,"  smiled  Visconti.  "  But  had  they  not,  I  had  done 
it  for  them,  as  I  will  burn  Mantua,  and  the  Gonzagas  in 
it*  We  will  have  no  seditious  spots  in  the  Lombardy 
/  rule.  There  will  be  one  capital  and  one  ruler,"  he 
added  sternly.  "  The  d'Estes  knew  enough  to  antici- 
pate it." 

De  Lana  was  silent. 

"And  these  prisoners,  my  lord?"  asked  da  Ribera. 
"What  of  them?" 

"  They  choke  the  camp,"  said  another. 

"  They  are  partisans  of  Mastino  della  Scala,  naturally," 


AN    INSTRUMENT    OF    GOD  347 

said  Visconti.  It  was  the  first  time  the  name  had  been 
mentioned,  and  Visconti's  eyes  flared  to  see  that  there 
was  silence  at  it. 

"  Mastino  della  Scala,  I  said — they  favored  him." 

"Yes,  my  lord;  him,  or  the  Estes." 

"  You  will  put  them  to  the  sword." 

"All?" 

"All!  "  shouted  Visconti,  half  rising.  "  I  will  have  no 
rebellious  slaves  to  groan  over  Della  Scala's  grave,  and 
hatch  me  plots  from  the  ashes  of  their  bones — we  will 
raze  the  cities  to  the  ground,  and  put  them  to  the  sword. 
My  triumph  will  need  no  prisoners  to  prove  it — and  see 
it  done,  de  Lana." 

They  quailed;  their  attitude  acknowledged  him  the 
master. 

"  Spare  the  churches,"  said  Visconti,  "  and  see  that 
all  relics  are  brought  with  due  honor  to  Milan.  Da 
Ribera,  you  ventured  furthest  into  Novara;  saw  you  any 
churches?" 

"  One,  my  lord,  is  saved :  the  church  of  Santa  Claire." 

"  We  tried  to  rescue  the  monks "  struck  in  Martin 

della  Torre.  "  They  refused  our  succor,  and  returned  into 
the  flames — screaming " 

He  paused. 

"  What  ?  "  demanded  Visconti. 

"  Somewhat  about  God's  curse,"  answered  della  Torre. 
"  Their  execration  was  not  pleasant." 

"  Had  you  not  been  there,  you  had  not  heard  it,"  said 
de  Lana.  "  And  a  few  crazy hark!  " 

There  came  a  great  noise  from  without,  and  the  tram- 
pling of  crowding  feet. 

"  Another  company  is  joining  us,"  remarked  Visconti. 

"  The  soldiers  from  Novara,"  said  della  Torre,  and  put 
his  goblet  down,  and  de  Lana  turned  expectantly  to  the 
door.  Visconti,  facing  it,  rose  in  his  seat  as  it  was  flung 


348  THE   VIPER   OF   MILAN 

wide  and  a  couple  of  scorched  and  bleeding  soldiers  en- 
tered, followed  by  a  trampling  guard. 

"  From  Novara?"  asked  the  Duke. 

They  stopped  short,  saluting. 

"  From  Novara!  We  have  saved  the  library  and  the 
college,  my  lord,  and  some  three  palaces." 

"  They  would  have  burned  the  library!  "  cried  Visconti, 
"  sooner  than  it  should  enrich  Milan — the  jealous  fools!  " 

"  Now,  hark  you  " — he  added  to  the  soldiers — "  every 
man  bringing  a  book  or  a  gem  or  a  picture,  I  reward; 
every  man  destroying  one,  I  hang.  Now,  which  is  he 
who  saved  the  library?  " 

An  officer  pushed  forward. 

"  This  is  he,  my  lord ;  one  of  my  company." 

"  Take  this  from  me,"  and  Visconti  handed  the  man 
his  neck  chain. 

"  And  the  prisoners,  my  lord?  " 

"  What  care  I  for  the  prisoners  ? — you  will  give  no 
quarter,  I  say !  " 

The  officer  bowed,  and  drew  a  little  book  from  his 
doublet,  laying  it  on  the  table. 

"  A  monk  gave  me  this  for  his  life,"  he  said.  "  And  all 
Lombardy  knows  your  taste  in  books,  my  lord." 

"  Remember  we  league  with  the  Pope,"  said  Visconti, 
taking  it  up.  "  The  monk  should  have  had  his  life  without 
a  bribe;  now  go,  and  heed  what  I  have  said."  He  turned 
to  de  Lana:  "  Follow,  and  see  if  the  flames  be  out;  'tis 
daylight." 

The  curtains  were  drawn  away  from  the  window,  and 
the  early  light,  fast  glowing  into  sunlight,  and  the  fresh 
morning  air,  filled  the  heated  chamber. 

The  lamps  flared  pale,  the  gorgeous  dresses  and 
flushed,  eager  faces  of  the  men  round  the  table,  the  glim- 
mer of  the  gold  and  silver  vessels  before  them,  showed  in 
a  garish  contrast  with  the  soft  light. 


AN    INSTRUMENT    OF    GOD  349 

"  Seneca,"  said  Visconti,  turning  over  the  volume  the 
soldier  had  brought.  "  Where  is  that  knave  Giannotto? 
Seneca,  spoiled  by  interlining,  but  still  Seneca.  Giannotto 
—I  say!" 

The  secretary  was  not  in  the  room,  but  the  page  dis- 
patched soon  brought  him.  He  stood  in  the  doorway, 
blinking  at  the  daylight,  looking  around  confused,  and 
the  company  broke  into  laughter. 

"Take  this!"  cried  Visconti.  "A  Seneca  on  vellum, 
with  some  dolt's  comments ;  take  it,  Giannotto." 

"  There  is  a  library  being  brought  in  below,"  said  the 
secretary. 

"  Because  we  spared  the  church  of  Santa  Claire, 
who  must  have  been  the  patron  saint  of  poets — eh,  de 
Lana?" 

"  Messer  Francesco  Petrarca  found  her  so,"  said  a 
noble  laughing.  "  A  lucky  day  for  him  when  he  stepped 
inside  the  church  of  Santa  Claire ! " 

"  He  had  cause  to  thank  her,  doubtless " 

"  If  Messer  Hugues  had  not,"  smiled  Visconti. 

"  I  know  not,  my  lord ;  for  a  dull  boor  like  that,  he 
gathered  some  fame,  else  never  his." 

"And  the  poet  turned  it  to  good  account,"  said 
Visconti.  "  Methinks  he  used  his  love  for  money- 
making;  he  coined  the  Lady  Laure  into  good  gold 
pieces!  " 

"  Now,  my  lord,  is  not  that  spite  because  Messer  Pe- 
trarca left  his  library  to  Venice?" 

Visconti  laughed. 

"  Let  him  leave  his  library  where  he  pleased,  he  was 
a  fine  man  of  business,  say  I." 

"  And  a  wearisome  poet,"  said  de  Lana. 

"O  Fiametta!"  said  Visconti  laughing.  "Joanna! 
Naples  and  the  blue  sea!  These  are  thy  patron  saints, 
deLana?" 


350  THE   VIPER   OF   MILAN 

"  Nay,  I  like  not  that  book  of  feeble  love-making  any 
better,"  replied  de  Lana;  "  a  Florentine  dallying!  " 

"  I  doubt  me  if  thou  hast  ever  read  it,"  said  the  Duke 
gayly. 

"  Alighieri  is  more  to  de  Lana's  mind/'  remarked  da 
Ribera,  pouring  wine,  "  and  the  fair  daughter  of  old 
Folco.  I  myself  used  to  sing  Alighieri's  verses  till  I 
tired." 

"  Yourself  or  your  audience,  my  friend  ?" 

But  Visconti  looked  at  the  speaker,  frowning. 

"  You  have  mentioned  Alighieri,  forgetting  who  was 
his  patron,"  whispered  della  Torre. 

"  The  court  of  Verona  and  Can'  Gran'  della  Scala " 

"He  recanted,  my  good  lord;  he  died  a  Ghibelline," 
said  da  Ribera,  acting  on  the  whisper. 

"  Mastino  della  Scala  was  a  Ghibelline ;  we  never  quar- 
reled over  that,"  said  Visconti  easily.  "  But  Mastino  was 
no  patron  of  poets  like  his  father."  He  leaned  back  in 
his  chair  and  looked  out  of  the  window,  where  above  the 
beautiful  fresh  green  of  the  garden  faint  smoke-wreaths 
showed,  the  last  of  Novara. 

"  De  Lana,  you  stood  next ;  what  did  he  say — as  he 
went  over?  " 

At  the  sudden  brutal  question,  they  started,  and  de 
Lana  suppressed  a  shudder. 

"  I  did  not  hear — I  thought — he  was  dead." 

"  I  think  you  are  still  afraid  of  him,"  smiled  Visconti. 
"  I  should  like  to  know  what  he  said."  And  he  looked 
round  for  Giannotto,  who  had  shrunk  into  a  corner,  and 
sat  there  gazing  dully  at  the  company. 

"Did  you  hear,  Giannotto?" 

"I?  How  should  I,  my  lord?  "  and  the  secretary  shuf- 
fled uneasily. 

"Ho!  a  sullen  knave!"  cried  Visconti,  then  leaned 
forward  and  touched  de  Lana  on  the  arm. 


AN    INSTRUMENT    OF   GOD  351 

"  I  hear  more  arrivals — hark !  " 

"  What  should  this  be?"  asked  da  Ribera  in  surprise. 
"  Not  my  Lord  Arezzo  from  Modena?  " 

"  From  Modena!  "  cried  Visconti  with  sparkling  eyes. 
"  Is  there  success  there  too  ?  " 

"  Your  arms  cease  to  meet  with  aught  else,  Lord  Vis- 
conti," said  della  Torre.  "  I  drink  to  your  perfect  tri- 
umph !  "  He  raised  his  glass,  red  as  a  huge  ruby  in  the 
light,  and  Visconti,  triumphant  indeed  when  the  leader 
of  a  faction  admitted  it  and  deemed  it  politic  to  say  so, 
drank  to  della  Torre  standing. 

There  was  a  clatter  of  footsteps  and  the  noise  of  a  great 
entry. 

"Silence!"  said  Visconti.  "  Tis  Arezzo,  I  hear  his 
voice." 

The  door  was  again  thrown  wide,  this  time  upon  a 
splendid  cavalier,  clad  in  magnificent  armor,  shining  be- 
neath his  travel-stained  scarlet  cloak. 

"  Success  rest  upon  your  helm,  Visconti,  for  Lom- 
bardy  to  Belluno  is  yours ! "  He  swept  his  cap  off,  and 
stood,  flushed  and  panting,  before  the  eager,  excited 
company,  who  rose  to  a  man. 

"Modena?"  asked  Visconti.  "And  Mantua?" 

"  Yours,"  said  Guido  d'Arezzo.  "  And  of  Ferrara  I 
myself  received  the  keys,  and  rode  post-haste  to  Milan, 
through  a  country  that  dared  not  raise  a  finger,  where 
even  the  nobles  came  uncovered  to  my  stirrup;  and  so 
from  thence  I  followed  you  here — with  these  as  proof  of 
my  success."  He  stepped  aside,  showing  a  glimpse  of 
the  disordered  room  beyond,  and  beckoned  to  one  of  the 
men  behind  him,  taking  two  great  standards  from  him. 

"  This  as  a  proof — the  banner  of  the  Gonzagas,  the 
standard  of  the  d'Estes! "  He  dropped  to  one  knee  and 
laid  them  at  Visconti's  feet,  both  bloodstained,  torn  to 
rags,  the  bearings  beaten  from  their  surface;  still,  the 


352  THE   VIPER   OF   MILAN 

flags  that  had  floated  from  Modena  and  Mantua.  The 
company  burst  into  wild  shouts,  mad  with  the  intoxica- 
tion of  success,  and  Visconti  raised  Arezzo  and  placed 
him  beside  him  at  the  table,  the  banners  at  his  feet. 

"  Thou  hast  done  splendidly,"  he  cried.  "  On  our  side 
too  there  is  fortune — Mastino  della  Scala  will  trouble  us 
no  more ! " 

"  Deadl  "  cried  the  general.  "  Dead!  " 

"  He  lies  yonder  in  the  garden."  With  smiling  lips 
Visconti  pointed  through  the  open  window.  "  He  was 
killed  last  night!" 

"  The  last  of  the  Scaligeri !  Then  Lombardy  is  yours 
indeed!" 

"  From  Vercelli  to  Belluno !  "  cried  de  Lana. 

"  I  shall  not  forget  those  who  helped  me,"  said  Vis- 
conti, and  called  for  wine  and  himself  served  Arezzo.  "  I 
will  prove  I  am  no  niggard  to  my  friends — your  health, 
Arezzo!  " 

The  name  of  the  victorious  captain  was  shouted  down 
the  table;  only  Giannotto  was  silent,  seated  in  the  win- 
dow-seat, and  the  Duke's  eyes  fell  on  him. 

"  Give  the  rogue  there  some  wine,"  he  laughed. 
"  Have  no  fears,  Giannotto,  I  will  remember  thee,  there 
are  palaces  enough  to  loot.  Thou  shalt  have  the  pickings 
of  one.  Drink!  "  he  added  in  a  sterner  tone,  as  the  secre- 
tary refused  the  wine  with  muttered  excuses.  "  Take  it, 
and  warm  thy  frozen  blood,  or  we  will  find  somewhat 
will  do  it  better." 

The  secretary  took  the  goblet,  but  so  gripping  the 
glass  that  the  slender  stem  snapped,  and  the  liquid  ran 
red  over  the  black  and  white  floor,  like  a  trail  of  fresh 
blood. 

"  The  cellars  are  not  so  full  that  we  can  spare  good 
wine,"  said  da  Ribera. 

But  Visconti  laughed,  and  pulling  the  map  again  to- 


AN   INSTRUMENT   OF   GOD  353 

ward  him,  pointed  out  the  march  to  Arezzo;  and  the 
secretary  was  forgotten,  cowering  in  gloomy  aloofness. 

Giannotto  watched  the  scene  with  a  dull  interest,  as  if 
it  were  far  away  and  in  no  way  belonging  to  him ;  he  had 
had  no  sleep  that  night,  and  felt  dizzy  and  confused.  He 
could  not  forget  Mastino,  slain  last  night,  and  yet  an 
eternity  ago!  and  lying  now  out  in  the  garden,  marring 
the  perfect  morning  with  the  horror  of  his  face. 

Giannotto  turned  his  back  to  the  garden  and  fixed  his 
eyes  on  the  group  round  the  table. 

They  made  a  brilliant  picture. 

The  background  was  mosaic,  black  and  silver,  gold  and 
white,  saints  with  glittering  haloes,  warriors  in  shining 
armor,  placid  and  dignified — a  splendid  decoration;  and 
against  these  the  moving  figures,  brilliant  in  color,  scarlet 
mantles,  doublets,  purple  and  orange,  glittering  with 
jewels,  and  laughter  and  talk — a  riot  of  life  and  color. 
Slashed  sleeves  and  gorgeous  tassels  were  laid  on  or 
swept  across  the  many-tinted  marble  table,  on  which 
there  stood  gold  and  silver  goblets  of  curious  shape,  and 
glasses,  milk-white,  azure,  or  painted,  some  delicate  as 
flower-bells,  others  with  twisted  stems  clasped  by  a  snake 
with  emerald  eyes.  And  the  center  of  it  all  was  Visconti, 
leaning  eagerly  over  the  map,  with  brocaded  mantle 
thrown  back. 

"  And  so  to  Turin !  "  Giannotto  heard  him  say  through 
the  confusion  of  voices.  "  We  march  next  to  Magenta." 

A  dozen  voices  caught  up  the  word.  Giannotto 
watched  them  idly. 

The  sun,  flooding  the  room,  made  the  gold  on  the  wall 
twinkle  and  glint,  and  caught  Arezzo's  inlaid  armor  in 
points  of  light. 

Visconti  overturned  one  of  the  glasses,  and  drew  on 
the  table  the  plan  of  Turin  in  spilled  wine,  de  Lana  lean- 
ing over  eagerly. 


354  THE   VIPER   OF   MILAN 

Giannotto  closed  his  eyes  and  leaned  back.  To  his 
fevered  senses  the  scene  seemed  unreal,  and  the  two  torn 
banners  resting  against  the  wall  to  add  a  touch  of  the 
horrible  to  the  brilliancy  and  the  triumph. 

From  Mantua  and  Modena — how  much  that  meant! 
how  many  lives  had  been  flung  aside  in  wild  agony  and 
despair  to  make  way  for  those  banners  to  stand  there ! 

"  Mantua  resisted  desperately,"  Arezzo  was  saying. 
"  But  Delia  Scala  had  left  them  so  weakened." 

"  Delia  Scala !  "  cried  Visconti.  "  I  remember,  he  is  in 
yonder  garden ;  see  he  be  brought  in,  da  Ribera ;  out  of 
all  Lombardy  I  can  spare  him  a  tomb !  " 

The  soldier  left  the  room,  and  the  talk  went  on  with 
little  heed  of  the  interruption;  Visconti  still  busy  with 
the  ramparts  of  Turin  and  the  defenses  of  Modena,  de 
Lana  disputing  the  route  to  Vercelli;  but  the  secretary 
was  not  interested.  His  head  pained  him,  and  he  fixed 
his  eyes  on  Visconti's  triumphant  face  with  a  strange 
fascination.  It  seemed  a  long  time  before  da  Ribera  re- 
turned, and  when  he  did,  at  something  in  his  face,  a 
sudden  silence  fell. 

"  What  is  it  ?  "  asked  Visconti,  and,  half-reeling,  Gian- 
notto leaned  forward  to  listen  for  the  answer. 

Da  Ribera  did  not  at  once  reply. 

"What  is  it?"  repeated  the  Duke  angrily. 

"  We  have  found  Delia  Scala,"  returned  da  Ribera, 
finding  voice,  "  but  not  only  his  body." 

"  Ah !  "  cried  Visconti  as  if  a  sudden  thought  had 
struck  him,  "  who  else  then,  da  Ribera  ?  " 

"  I  cannot  tell,  only  there  is  a  dead  lady  in  the  garden  ; 
she  is  laid  as  if  sleeping  on  the  grass,  quite  dead." 

Visconti  rose  so  suddenly  that  the  sweep  of  his  long 
sleeve  sent  the  glasses  crashing  to  the  ground,  and  made 
Arezzo  start. 

"  It  is  Isotta  d'Este !  "  he  cried.  "  Mastino's  wife !  " 


AN    INSTRUMENT   OF   GOD  355 

"  Isotta  dead?  "  cried  de  Lana,  and  the  words  echoed 
around  the  room.  "  How  should  she  be  here,  and  dead  ?  " 

"  The  dead  only  can  answer  you,"  said  Visconti.  "  Now 
I  can  recall  what  'twas  Mastino  said — something  about 
her !  Still,  it  may  not  be  his  duchess.  As  you  say,  how 
should  she  be  dead,  and  here  ?  " 

"  How  should  she  be  dead  ?  "  asked  de  Lana  again. 

"  Yet  truly  what  else "  he  paused,  keeping  back  his 

words,  and  his  glance  met  the  secretary's. 

Giannotto  was  remembering  something:  the  figure  of 
Visconti  standing  sullen,  with  a  moody  face,  thinking  on 
another  dead  woman ;  "  Had  she  lived  I  would  not  have 
done  it ! "  he  had  said.  The  secretary  rose ;  now  he 
understood. 

In  this  triumphant  Visconti  there  was  no  sign  of  the 
spirit  that  had  prompted  that  murmur,  but  the  secretary 
understood. 

Close  behind  Giannotto  was  a  fresco  painting,  a  panel 
between  the  windows — St  Sebastian  in  a  glory,  smiling, 
transfixed  with  arrows,  brilliant  against  a  background  of 
blue. 

Giannotto,  standing  there  half-dazed  with  his  new 
thought,  noticed  it,  and  clutched  the  wooden  ribbing 
underneath  with  something  like  a  prayer  on  his  lips. 
Might  the  saints  and  martyrs  remember  to  him  he  had 
had  no  share  in  this ! 

Visconti  turned  to  leave  the  table,  and  with  a  clinking 
of  armor  and  a  dazzling  display  of  scarlet  and  blue  the 
nobles  moved  back ;  the  sunshine  was  now  golden  and 
filling  the  room. 

"  Can  he  be  going  to  look  at  her  ?  "  thought  the  secre- 
tary, dully ;  then,  stumbling  over  something  as  he  moved 
forward,  he  glanced  down  and  started.  The  next  moment 
he  looked  round  sharply  to  see  if  any  eye  was  upon  him, 
stooped  quickly,  and  picked  it  up. 


356  THE   VIPER   OF   MILAN 

It  was  a  little  stiletto,  a  thing  dropped,  perhaps  last 
night,  and  overlooked,  a  tiny  thing  with  a  long,  glittering 
blade.  Giannotto  slipped  it  into  his  dress,  he  hardly  knew 
why — it  gave  him  a  feeling  of  security;  it  was  a  long 
time  since  Visconti's  secretary  had  been  armed,  even  by 
so  much  as  this. 

"  With  good  horses,"  said  Visconti,  drawing  on  his 
gloves,  "  we  reach  Magenta — when,  de  Lana  ?  " 

"  In  two  days,  my  lord." 

"And  Turin?" 

"  If  there  is  no  resistance "  began  de  Lana. 

Visconti  laughed. 

"  Resistance  ?  Lombardy  is  ours,  my  good  de  Lana ! 
Resistance " 

"  Is  hardly  wise,"  put  in  da  Ribera. 

"  And  quite  useless,"  said  della  Torre,  with  a  low  bow. 

The  splendid  group  was  passing  Giannotto,  standing 
dully  beneath  St  Sebastian,  when  the  Duke  stopped. 

"  Come,  I  may  have  need  of  you,  Giannotto." 

The  secretary's  hand  stole  to  his  breast.  He  felt  the 
handle  of  the  stiletto,  and  wondered  why  he  had  picked 
it  up. 

The  doors  were  thrown  open  for  the  Duke  to  pass, 
and  as  they  passed  out  into  the  stairs,  Giannotto  slunk 
into  his  place  behind  Visconti. 

Here  were  also  noise  and  crowds ;  the  coming  and  go- 
ing of  soldiers  and  courtiers,  excited  talk  and  laughter, 
and  in  the  distance  the  sound  of  the  drums,  for  the  army 
was  preparing  to  march.  The  front  of  the  palace  was  alive 
with  them,  the  rattle  of  the  new-fashioned  artillery,  the 
shouted  commands,  the  sunshine  upon  the  standards  and 
the  armor,  and  the  fluttering,  colored  plumes. 

But  Visconti  turned  aside  to  the  back  of  the  palace,  and 
descended  the  steps  that  led  to  the  garden.  It  was  quiet 
here,  all  sounds  subdued  and  distant. 


AN    INSTRUMENT   OF    GOD  357 

The  balustrade  of  the  steps  and  terrace  was  smothered 
in  roses,  white,  pink,  and  crimson,  past  their  full  summer 
pride,  and  many  lying  crushed  across  the  marble,  while 
tangled  trails  of  leaves  and  creepers  lay  torn  from  the 
stone  where  they  had  clung. 

Visconti  noticed  it,  and  looked  with  a  smile  at  da 
Ribera,  who  in  his  turn  smiled  also  and  passed  a  light 
word  on  at  which  the  laugh  was  general. 

They  were  great  nobles,  princes  some  of  them,  yet  not 
one  dared  to  look  grave  when  Visconti  smiled,  or  was 
not  eager  to  fawn  upon  his  notice. 

At  the  foot  of  the  steps  the  grass  was  crushed  and 
blood-stained,  and  from  beside  the  oleanders  and  olives, 
drooping  in  the  sun,  a  little  procession  of  men  was  en- 
gaged lifting  something  from  the  ground. 

Visconti  stopped. 

"  Delia  Scala,"  said  de  Lana.  "  They  are  moving  him, 
according  to  your  orders,  my  lord." 

Visconti  stroked  his  chin  thoughtfully. 

"  Bid  them  set  him  down  again."  And  he  stepped 
softly  down  the  steps. 

Giannotto  looked  at  his  smiling  face  with  a  cold, 
strange  horror,  and  glanced  round  to  see  if  it  were  not 
in  the  others'  faces  too,  but  he  did  not  see  it. 

The  soldiers,  at  de  Lana's  peremptory  order,  stopped, 
and  laid  the  burden  they  were  lifting  at  Visconti's  feet. 

Mastino  della  Scala! 

Visconti  repeated  the  name  and  grasped  his  dagger. 

Mastino  della  Scala,  the  man  who  had  checked  him, 
scorned  him,  foiled  him  all  his  life,  the  proudest  race, 
the  most  stainless  name  in  Lombardy,  ended  here  and  in 
this! 

Visconti  stepped  close  and  looked  down  into  his 
enemy's  uncovered  face. 

"  He  was  not  beautiful,  this  Della  Scala,"  he  said. 


358  THE   VIPER   OF   MILAN 

Then  he  glanced  up  and  round  with  a  wordless,  an 
unutterable  exultation.  All  he  had  asked  had  been  given 
him  and  more!  He,  Visconti,  Duke  of  Milan,  could  ask 
for  nothing  more  than  this  moment  gave  him — a  perfect 
triumph. 

Da  Ribera  peered  forward  curiously.  "  He  is  torn  to 
rags,"  he  said.  "  He  must  have  fought  like  a  mad- 
man  " 

"  He  was  mad,"  said  Visconti. 

"And  the  lady?"  said  de  Lana,  suddenly,  to  Visconti. 
"  Where  is  she,  my  lord?  " 

Visconti,  lacing  his  gold  gloves,  paused  a  moment,  and 
answered  over  his  shoulder,  lightly: 

"  She  seems  to  fill  thy  thoughts,  de  Lana!  " 

"Only,  can  it  be  the  Duchess?"  said  da  Ribera.  "I 
have  never  seen  Isotta  d'Este,  so  cannot  tell.  I  left  her 
where  I  found  her — on  the  grass,  beneath  those  laurels. 
But  that  it  is  a  lady " 

He  pointed  as  he  spoke  to  a  distant  bush,  round  which 
tall  lilies  grew. 

"  It  is  the  Duchess!  "  cried  another. 

"How  should  she  be  dead?"  asked  de  Lana,  and  his 
glance  again  sought  the  secretary's. 

"How  indeed?"  said  Visconti,  with  a  curious  smile. 
"  And  yet  there  are  enough  ways  of  dying  abroad.  I  will 
see  for  myself — so  that  if  it  indeed  be  Isotta  d'Este  she 
may  have  fitting  honor " 

The  group  moved  forward.  The  advance  of  the  army 
was  already  marching  past  the  walls  of  the  garden,  past 
the  gate  through  which  Mastino  had  ridden;  the  pennons 
from  their  lances  showed  above  the  yellow  jasmine  that 
covered  the  stonework,  and  the  drums  beat  loud  as  Vis- 
conti and  his  company  reached  the  laurel  clump  and  stood 
looking  down  at  the  silent  figure  in  the  crushed  and  be- 
draggled white  and  purple. 


AN    INSTRUMENT   OF    GOD  359 

"  Isotta  d'Este!  "  said  Visconti,  under  his  breath,  and 
yet  with  an  unmoved  face,  that  showed  no  surprise. 

"  Dead!  "  said  de  Lana,  after  a  pause,  and  looked  at 
him. 

Visconti  laughed  softly,  and  turned  with  shining  eyes. 

"  Did  I  not  tell  you  Delia  Scala  was  mad — did  we  not 
see  it  for  ourselves  last  night?"  he  said. 

"  So  it  is  the  Duchess  ?  "  whispered  da  Ribera.  "  She 
was  very  beautiful,  they  say." 

She  lay  where  they  had  drawn  her  from  her  shelter 
underneath  the  laurels,  her  dress  clinging  close,  her  head 
turned  away.  Mastino  had  wrapped  her  round  carefully, 
with  a  clumsy  tenderness;  wrapped  her  veil  about  her 
face,  and  laid  his  own  cloak  over  her  to  shield  her  from 
the  night  and  rain.  And  his  last  whisper  was  for  her — 
an  appeal  to  some  one's  humanity  to  see  that  Visconti 
should  not  look  upon  his  victim's  face,  should  not  defile 
her  with  his  touch. 

It  rushed  on  Giannotto  with  the  certainty  of  conviction 
— he  had  caught  only  the  ghostly  whisper,  but  he  was 
sure  in  this  moment  of  the  sense  of  it;  and  the  music,  the 
colors  and  sunshine,  and  splendor  and  pomp  of  triumph, 
and  Gian  Visconti's  cold,  mocking  face  began  to  dance 
before  Giannotto's  vision  like  figures  and  fancies  of  a 
dream.  He  heard  Visconti  speak  to  Arezzo,  saw  Arezzo 
stoop  and  lift  the  mantle,  and  he  moved  back  a  step  and 
put  his  hand  to  his  breast. 

"  Isotta  d'Este!  "  said  Visconti,  turning  to  the  others, 
and  pointing  down  to  the  dead  uncovered  face.  "  Now 
what  was  she  to  lose  everything  for?  " 

"  His  wife,"  said  de  Lana,  and  turned  his  head  away. 

"  Yes,  my  friend — do  not  forget  it:  Delia  Scala' s  wife!  " 
and  Visconti  touched  him  on  the  shoulder  warningly. 

The  group  turned  to  go,  and  the  secretary  saw  it  with 
a  feeling  of  relief,  when  by  some  sudden  impulse  Vis- 


360  THE   VIPER   OF   MILAN 

conti  stepped  back,  and  stood  looking  down  once  at  the 
poor  white  face. 

His  own  showed  neither  fear,  nor  remorse,  nor  wonder, 
only  triumph,  and  the  secretary  felt  the  blood  rise  slowly 
from  his  heart  toward  his  brain,  and  he  drew  the  stiletto 
half  from  his  breast. 

"Donna  mia,"  said  Visconti,  speaking  to  her  with  a 
smile,  "  we  must  not  part  so  coldly,  you  and  I — I  will 
give  you  a  fair  tomb  in  Verona — in  red  Verona,  donna 
mia!' 

He  dropped  on  one  knee  beside  her,  holding  the  laurels 
back  and  the  lilies  that  hung  above  her  head. 

"  This  as  an  earnest,"  he  said,  and  bent  over  her  and 
kissed  her — kissed  the  cold  cheek  of  Mastino's  wife. 

The  group  watching  stirred  among  themselves;  no 
smiling  faces  now:  each  eye  averted,  but  still  no  one 
spoke. 

And  Visconti  stooped  and  kissed  her  again,  where  the 
dark  hair  lay  about  her  forehead. 

Then  something  gave  in  Giannotto's  brain:  a  voice 
seemed  to  thunder  in  his  ears — "Judgment!  "  His  hand 
flew  from  his  breast  and  up  and  down  upon  the  kneeling 
figure,  while  he  cried  out  terribly  with  a  white,  inspired 
face,  and  Visconti  fell  forward,  stabbed  through  the  back. 

"  Treachery,"  cried  da  Ribera,  scarcely  seeing  who  had 
done  it.  "  The  Duke  is  stabbed!  " 

Visconti  clutched  at  the  flowers  and  fell  without  a 
word. 

"  Killed!  "  screamed  de  Lana.  "  Now  God  is  just!  " 

"  Killed— the  Duke  is  killed!  " 

Guido  d'Arezzo  bent  over  him  with  a  white  face,  but 
della  Torre  stamped  in  a  passion  of  excitement  and 
dragged  at  his  shoulder. 

"  Killed ! — come  away — there  are  ourselves  to  think  of 
— come  away!  " 


AN   INSTRUMENT    OF   GOD  361 

Arezzo  sprang  to  his  feet. 

"  To  Milan!  "  cried  della  Torre.  "  He  leaves  no  heirs." 

Visconti  was  still  breathing:  he  struggled,  and  Gian- 
notto  pushed  to  his  side  and  stood  above  him,  bursting 
into  wild  words. 

"  I  did  it — Visconti! — I  did  it — do  you  hear — do  you 
hear!  I  knew,  and  I  did  it!  " 

"Keep  away!"  yelled  della  Torre,  and  pulled  him 
back. 

Then  he  dropped  to  his  knee  and  tore  the  signet-ring 
from  the  hand  of  the  dying  man. 

"To  Milan!"  he  cried,  springing  up.  "Haste!  to 
Milan!" 

"To  Milan!"  echoed  Arezzo;  "to  Milan  and  the 
army " 

"  Back — all  of  you !  "  said  de  Lana,  and  he  raised  Vis- 
conti. "  He  is  not  dead " 

"  He  is  past  life.  To  Milan!" 

The  garden  was  one  wild,  yelling  confusion;  the  news 
was  spreading  like  fire ;  each  thought  and  acted  for  him- 
self;  and  Giannotto,  instrument  of  vengeance,  whimpered 
on  his  knees. 

The  rush  to  the  gate  came  by  so  close,  the  flying  feet 
almost  touched  Visconti's  face;  and  as  della  Torre  passed, 
he  struck  his  glove  across  him. 

De  Lana  lifted  Visconti  from  the  grass,  but  with  a  last 
effort  he  struggled  from  him  and  dropped  back. 

"  Milan!  "  he  sobbed. 

De  Lana  bent  down  eagerly  to  catch  a  muttered  prayer, 
but  there  was  nothing  more. 

"Milan!" 

The  voices  and  shouts  rose  to  a  deafening  pitch  of 
confusion,  the  very  air  seemed  fevered  with  excitement; 
a  flock  of  startled  doves  flew  past  in  panic,  a  rainbow  of 
color;  flew  so  low  and  so  close  to  de  Lana  as  to  blind 


362  THE   VIPER   OF    MILAN 

him  for  a  moment  with  the  whirr  of  their  wings,  and  in 

that  moment  was  a  terrible  cry. 

They  passed,  beating  the  lilies  down. 

"  My  lord!  "  cried  de  Lana.  u  My  lord!  " 

But  even  as  he  spoke,  he  knew  Gian  Visconti  was  dead. 


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